


And Life Continues

by Aaannn



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Gen, Implied Relationships, Series Spoilers, reference to deleted scenes, somewhat predictions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaannn/pseuds/Aaannn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After those from Woodbury are brought to the prison, both groups must adjust to each other, as well as figuring out what to do next while still dealing with lingering thoughts of the Governor and worrying about making the prison safe from Walkers. Though members try to live with each other, some people have a harder time than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Complicated and Confused

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started the first few lines as a Daryl/Carol and it came out that I wanted to write what I want to/think will happen in season 4. I hope you enjoy, I don't know how many chapters it will have, honestly, but I hope you guys have enough sense to yell at me for leaving it go abandoned for months at a time. I will probably address Carl's growth, as well as everyone else's character growth as the story progresses.

The arrow was poised at aim, ready to fly through its next victim as quick as Daryl could squeeze the bow's trigger. For the past few days, he had been tracking a doe and he had finally found it as the sun began to reach its noon peak, the few rays of light slipping through the foliage to lead the doe's way through the trees. His eyes gently narrowed as his focus stilled on his prey, analyzing each step, each swivel of the animal's head as it moved from one leaf to the next.

With slow deliberation, Daryl raised his bow and aimed. He sat with his bow pointed at target for moments as the animal grazed on the small patch of food it had found on the forest floor. He could feel the relaxation of the forest in his muscles as a small bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. His mouth tightened at the feeling of it, fighting his instinct to wipe it away so he could keep shooting composure long enough to properly squeeze the trigger and watch the doe fall with a gentle thump. Finally wiping away the moisture from his skin, Daryl could feel the relaxation of the wood take over him again.

As quickly and calmly as he could, he collected the doe and headed back towards the group with it on his back, rope tugging at his neck with each step he took. Moments like this made him wish he had brought one of the vehicles for the journey back even though he knew it would make his hunting that much harder than it already was. His contempt grew between the alternating bumps of the doe on his back and the squirrels hanging from his back pocket.

The prison was a welcoming site-- a feeling he had yet to get over-- though the scenery was much stranger now that others were now buzzing about the yard with his family. Thoughts like that often struck his hidden heart as flashbacks of Merle's white-washed eyes stared at him hungrily, his brother's body coming closer with intent on eating him. Just as quick as the feeling came, Daryl pushed it down to a place he wouldn't be able to find it again.

Daryl raised his arm and waved to show whoever was on watch that it was just him coming out of the treeline-- that he was still alive and with them. While the food in the prison was still in stock, the new additions were sure to deplete it faster than anticipated; he would have to start teaching some of them how to hunt without being eaten. He would have to teach them-- some from scratch, some of whom were strangers to him-- and he felt the distaste for the work already. He didn't like it, but he would do it because it was the only way it would be done right and he knew that much.

"How'd it go?" Carl asked as he pulled the gate back closed before any of the Walkers were able to get through. Daryl looked at him and then looked at the area where he saw the Woodbury children playing earlier.

He shrugged as he pulled the rope from over his back. "Didn't notice anythin' funny. Not a lot a Walkers out there neither," was all he said, his grunt losing its grit as he felt the doe's weight fall away. He could feel the tension in his back beginning to loosen, a kink revealing itself in his spine. "Anythin' int'restin' happen when I was gone?" Carl shook his head and leaned against the tower, his hat tipping towards his chin as the brim met building.

"I think we should go to Woodbury."

Daryl looked at him, his shock hidden beneath it. "Why you tellin' me?" The answer was harsh, but he knew the kid could handle it. Besides, what was he supposed to do about the kid's request?

"Doesn't it make sense? They had their own town so they must have some food there. They gotta have a few good weapons too, and if they don't have weapons, they may just have ammo. Wouldn't hurt to have it since we need them for the extra bodies."

Carl looked at Daryl, the man's eyes fixated at the dirt as he thought about it. After a few moments, Daryl turned back to the boy. "You brought this up to anyone, yet?" They didn't have to point out that they were thinking about Rick's reaction.

Carl looked out at the huddles of people dotting the front of the prison, some of the other kids running and laughing in play, some of the adults sitting down as they assessed the new situation. "I want back-up when I do. No sense of bringing a stupid idea right now." The older nodded before picking up his catch and bringing it up to the tombs.

That evening, he sat with the baby and watched her sleep, thinking about what Carl had said to him. Rick and Maggie had been off clearing blocks for the newcomers; a couple of the blocks that had already been cleared of Walkers were now being cleared of the dead prisoners who had been laying on the floor-- most of the Woodbury people had been assigned to that. Glenn was on look out and Carol sat below him on the first floor, patching some of the clothes that she had wanted to get to before the weather became cooler.

Would it be necessary to go there? To risk the lives for the chance of bringing back weapons and food? Of course it would be worth it. Who was he kidding? They took off on runs all the time for little shit, so why wouldn't something like this not be worth it? The bus was still in the prison yard and that would be more than enough protection from Walkers, plus plenty of space for a couple people to go along, and bring back a large load of equipment and whatever rations they could find. From what he remembered of the place, it was a nice enough of a fort to at least spend some time scavenging. As he thought about it more and more, the more it made sense for them to go. That is, until he thought about the Governor. Doubt lingered in his thoughts as the idea of another attack on the prison entered his mind.

Judy's gurgle pulled him out of his mind as she cooed for his attention. He smiled down at her, eyes lighting up as she looked up at him. His face collapsed as he finally smelled her diaper. He sighed and took her to the make-shift nursery and took care of the mess before handing her over to Carol and going outside to take over watch. Rick was sitting in the tower, his hands gripping the railing as he scanned the treeline with dead focus. As he heard the metal creak under Daryl's weight, he turned to the hunter. Without saying a word, Rick turned back to the skirts of forest. The two sat in silence, not looking at each other-- just watching without a sound.

"How's the patchwork comin' along?" Daryl finally asked, hoping to ease into the conversation a little more light-hearted so he could get a sense of what the other man was thinking before getting into the harder details.

"It's coming along, somewhat. Need some more materials to really rebuild it though, and I damn well know we ain't gonna find any mortar and bricks to rebuild here." The comment caught Daryl's attention, though he made no move to add on to the conversation. "I'm not sure where we'll really find them. Can't take the chance of searching for them."

The listener nodded before glancing at his knuckles surrounding the rail. His gaze finally shifted back to Rick, the latter filling up the former's peripheral. "The rebuildin' isn't the only thing we gotta worry 'bout. We're gonna run out of food faster."

Rick was silent for a moment before retorting that the group could hunt for deer and squirrel like Daryl had done earlier.

"Would take too long," Daryl shook gingerly, "plus, we don't have enough weapons for all of 'em. Even if we did, we don't have enough ammo." He could see Rick thinking, but he was sure that these thoughts were not new to the sheriff. "What if we have to move on? You saw us dwindle when he had a group only a portion o' this size: what would it be like if we actually had to move with all of 'em?" Rick's eyes met Daryl's with a blank coldness.

"What are you getting at?"

"I just think we need to discuss this stuff, y'know? Kinda prepare for it now that we have a little community growin'." The corner of Rick's mouth pulled back as his head bobbed up and down, his face falling parallel to the ground.

A moment of silence passed between the two. "You're right. We'll have to talk to some of the new guys-- you, me, Glenn, Hershel-- we'll all have to talk to them and see where they're at, mentally. Maybe come up with a couple plans." Rick's head had bobbed up to look at his comrade, the gaze darting between Daryl and the army of trees lit up by the moonlight. "We'll do it tomorrow evening, after supper. I'll talk to the others and tell them to keep their ears open about what they say."


	2. Woodbury's Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl's suggestion begins to seem more promising as more people talk about the pros and cons of going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2 :) Hope you like it. Thanks to everyone who's read it thus far and those whom continue to read. It really means something to me. If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them!

As the night drug on, Daryl watched the living dead roam around the fence. Only a few of them had been coming up to the site anymore, but since the attacks from the Governor, Walkers had become a back-burner issue, only paying mind to them if they had found a way inside or were coming through the fence.

What seemed to be hours to him, Daryl finally heard someone coming up the ladder of the tower. A small 'damn' from a feminine voice reached his ears  over the shifting of metal and low hissing sound coming from the Walkers in the distance. "What are you doing up?" he asked Carol without hesitation, barely acknowledging that she had set her small frame next to his on the walkway.

He could feel her shrug through his arms, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "Couldn't sleep," was all she spoke, her gentle voice sounding exasperated and timid as it usually did. "Was wondering what you've been thinking, too. You've been awful quiet lately." She shifted to settle him into her gaze. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Daryl spat over the edge without watching it hurtle towards the ground, his focus trained on the Walkers, keeping an eye out for something worse-- the living.

Finally, he spoke, leaving the still air with his query. "How d'you like 'em so far? How much d'you think this'll all change everythin'?"

Carol waited a moment before giving her answer, her attention now aimed unfocused on the air in front of her. "Well," she started before giving another long pause, "it's nice to have some of the women around so I won't be alone taking care of Judy-- not that it's a chore, but it's nice to not be the only mother around anymore." The words were innocent truth, but Daryl felt guilt as old wounds opened up, remembering how he to old the woman back from the rotting, walking corpse of her own daughter whom he had so desperately searched for; wisps of untold truths resurfaced in him-- mainly how he didn't want to let Sophia down as he had been let down when he had been lost in the woods. On rare moments he had time to himself, Daryl still wondered what had made her suddenly change direction on her way back to the highway. "Plus, it's a nice change of scenery. I think we were all ready for some new people to join; we were getting to dependent of each other-- too used to each other. I think it may be good for us all."

Daryl shifted his gaze at her. "Still ain't answered the other question."

"Honestly, I'm not sure how much this will change everything. We'll definitely have to get more blankets and clothes, though-- if not for us, then definitely for the baby. If we have to move out suddenly, she won't be able to live through the winter." The cold truth of it hit Daryl, not having crossed his mind before her bringing it up. "Another run may have to be made for her formula as well. There's still a good amount, but one of the women from Woodbury is ready to pop any day now. Surprised she hasn't already. I think she said she would breastfeed her baby, but even then, we still need to be stocked with it. Can't be breastfeeding it forever."

With each new person he talked to, it seemed like going to Woodbury was the best choice that any of them had. He could vaguely remember seeing parts of Woodbury and it seemed that there may have been some of these other supplies for the group. If a pregnant woman had been healthy enough to be unafraid of bringing a baby into the world, then there must have been something at that place that made it all okay. Right?

"Was talkin' to Rick earlier," he informed her, hoping to get her opinion on it. As he waited for her response, he scraped some earth from beneath his finger nails.

"About what?" she finally asked.

"'Bout goin' to Woodbury for weapons and stuff."

He didn't need to look at Carol to see the surprise in her moonlit eyes. He could feel her arm stiffen against his, probably worrying about what may be awaiting for him at, what they assumed to be, a deserted haven. "You're joking," were the only words that she could manage.

"I think it might be a good idea. They couldn't've wasted the past 9 months in expectin' a baby like we did. And they probably got a lot of food stored back there. Probably got a lot of blankets and stuff we could bring back as well."

Carol could only look out at the shadowed tree line, the glimmer of the water catching her attention between the blue-washed grass on both sides of the creek. The idea seeped into her mind, weighing the pros against the cons to find any weakness in his argument. "What if the Governor is there?"

Daryle knew this may come up. "He killed damn near everyone he fuckin' took with him to attack us, Carol. I doubt he'll have anyone left on his side now that the whole fuckin' town his here." Though his voice was ruff, he knew that the question was not far-fetched. "I was figurin' we'd take the bus back. Lots of space for cargo, a couple people, doesn't make a bunch a noise so it won't attract any Walkers, and it'll be some nice protection from 'em, too."

"What if something happens when you guys are away?"

The idea of another attack against the prison scared everyone. They weren't sure if any other groups were nearby or if any of them were as well-equipped as Woodbury had been, but the terror of facing such a horror wasn't something they wanted to live through again. Facing Walkers were bad enough without having to worry about the living turning on each other.

"You make it sound like you're already set on going, Daryl. Why would you think of going back?"

"Carl asked me about it," he gruffed back.

"Carl?"

"Yeah, 't's what I said."

Carol sighed. "I'm worried about him. Did you hear what happened during the attack when he was out in the woods with Hershel? Shot a kid when he was handing over a weapon."

"Heard he wa'n't too happy about us savin' 'em, either," Daryl confessed to her while placing his palm on his knee. "Though, the kid he shot di'n't follow orders--just kept edging closer to 'im. The kid was probably thinkin' 'bout pullin' Carl in for a hostage or somethin' so he could get away."

"I'm still worried about him," admitted Carol as her shoulders sank. "This isn't the right world for Carl to be growing up in where something like that may be okay. I'd hate to see what that does to him later on."

"Pr'y make him live longer in this type of world if you think about it."

She nodded. Though she didn't want to admit it, everyone knew that an attitude like that would keep Carl alive for a long time. At least, long enough to protect his baby sister.

"You better get to sleep," Daryl warned her. "Tomorrow'll be a big day." She nodded once more and began pulling herself up to stand. "Hey," he called softly, reaching to catch her wrist as she walked away, her body just out of reach, "don't be afraid to ask 'em about what they left behind. It might be helpful."  Carol agreed after a moment of reluctance before heading back inside to sleep for whatever was left of the night.

When the sun peeked over the horizon, a few people were already up, most of them Daryl was familiar with. He could see Michonne's rigid form attached with her sword, Rick talking to her one-on-one about something, most likely about Woodbury, Daryl assumed. A part of him felt comforted when he saw Rick's head nodding in discussion, while the other part of him felt annoyed that another run was going to be made after he just returned the night before. He only had himself to blame, though; if he didn't want to go on another survival mission, he should have just let Carl find his own supporters or bring it up to his dad rather than to Daryl. For a few minutes, he mentally kicked his ass for even saying anything to Rick so soon. Oh, well; there went the rest that he had been planning to have today.

Rick made his way from person to person, more members coming from within the prison as the sun's heat started to creep higher into the sky. Maybe an hour later, Glenn came to relieve Daryl of watch.

Reaching the bottom of the ladder, Daryl stretched with exhaustion, his lids closing tight as a yawn escaped his mouth. After hooking his thumb under the strap of his bow, he began to make his way towards the tombs where the promise of sleep awaited him. With brows furrowed against the sun, the uphill climb seemed longer than usual to his worn body.

On his way inside, he passed a small gathering, a few of the people being those he recognized, but the majority of them were new arrivals. It seemed that one of the women was unappeased by the living conditions that she had suddenly been thrust into when she had come from such a nice, safe place that she had called home for just over a year. "... I just don't see how we're supposed to _clean_ ourselves," he heard her say critically, "I mean, I haven't seen any soap, much less a shower, and we've been here for how many days already? At least a week, right?"

Fighting the urge to yell at the inept woman about how the world had changed in the past year, Daryl instead kept his head down and let his skin rejoice in the air of the cemented walls. He would let Maggie or Beth deal with the woman's concerns as he finally let his body rest on his cot, his eyes shutting an instant after his head hit the pillow.

When Daryl woke up, the sun was still out, shining bright in the high sky of noon. A low rumble of chatter reached his cell from below, the sweet, gentle voice of Carol sticking out against the other faceless voices he could make out.

"See, if you move it like this, the stitch will be tighter...Yes! See? Doesn't it feel good to be able to do that?" he heard her say, probably to a younger girl about Carl's age. He knew that she had taught Beth and Maggie to sew on their own so the group would still have fit clothes if something were to ever happen to her. Carol continued on, uttering words that he couldn't make out, but he knew she was still talking. If she had a softer voice, she was probably trying to ask the kid about Woodbury-- what it was like or trying to get information out by consoling her, something he knew a lot of mothers did to his friends as he grew up. Not wanting to spoil Carol's tactics, Daryl laid in bed for a few minutes, his eyes still gently closed so they could milk every moment of rest they could get. They would be no use to him if they were worn to the point of faulting, whether it was hunting or saving his own hide from becoming the dinner of the undead.

"You're pretending to sleep," the flat voice of Michonne rang in the cell. He opened one eye to see her leaning against the wall with her arms folded. She was not accusing him of being a liar or implying that such an act was bad, just simply pointing out that he was pretending; Daryl knew the difference when it came to her. Though he didn't like her that much, he understood the hunter in her. "Rick's talked to you, I presume?"

Though it was a question, Michonne was sure that Daryl already knew about the idea of going to Woodbury. She watched the once-sheriff floating around the members, talking to them in private, all members, save for him; the only reason Rick wouldn't do that was if Daryl already knew or wasn't supposed to know about the plan. Though, Daryl had no authority in the group with decisions, she knew that his hunting skills were still valued enough to keep him in the loop; no one would be stupid enough to wrong the one person who talents were vital for getting food.

"What d'you think about it?"

"It's rational."

Daryl looked up at her with both eyes. "But?" he encouraged her explanation, his delivery laced with gentle irritation at having to ask her for something she wanted to say.

"It may have been over run. I doubt you guys shut the wall up after busing everyone here. Though, they had more than enough blankets. When they were hosting us for face, they gave us twice as many blankets as there were people."

Flashes of Andrea bleeding to death with a chunk of her flesh taken out went through Daryl's mind as he recalled that she and Michonne had been welcomed there for a time before the attacks had started. A sinking in the pit of his stomach was once more pushed away so he could focus on the present. "We cleared out this whole prison with just a few of us. I'm sure however many there are, we could take 'em." Michonne did not seem at ease with his answer, but said nothing in retaliation. "You thinkin' about another reason we shouldn't go?"

She shook her head, her dark irises piercing through his pupils as she pushed away from the wall. "No," she answered as she made her way out of the cell and down the stairs to the prison yard where she could take her frustration out by decapitating Walkers.

Out at the fence, Rick watched the dead move around, some coming closer to the fence in futile attempts to make him a meal only to be surprised with a crowbar through the cranium. Behind him, Hershel lectured a few of the newcomers about crop growing, his small yielding an example of what happens when planting late in the season and how the current plants will affect the crops they would hopefully be planting after the winter wore off. Many of those in the group had also spent time growing food back at Woodbury and were no strangers to growing whatever they needed, making the elder's lecture short. With his lesson finished, Hershel made his way over to Rick as his class collected the fruit of his labor. "It seems like Woodbury is promising," Hershel told Rick, his tone unwavering as he steadied himself with the crutch on the uneven earth.

Rick pulled out the crowbar from the latest corpse and stepped away from the fence to face his adviser. He bared his teeth against the sun beating down on him, stealing a glance at those a few feet away. "What'd they say?"

"They talked about how they grew a few things. One of them said they had a dresser-sized pantry dedicated to seeds."

Rick looked down as he kicked the dirt half-heartedly. "You think it's a good idea?"

Hershel stared at the younger man, taking slow, loud breaths, collectiing his thoughts. "It seems like the best idea. I'm not completely sure if it will pan out exactly how we want it to, but it's definitely a strong offer on the table at the moment. My reservations mean nothing against the stacks of truth." With that, Rick nodded and the men headed back to the prison, taking the back of the group as the crops were carried indoors.


	3. Onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finally reaches a decision about making a run to Woodbury for supplies.

"So what're we doin'?"

Daryl looked up from the ground to look at Rick. Evening was well under way and a group had gathered inside the generator room. Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Carl, the Greene's, Michonne, and Carol were huddled together, talking in hushed voices.

"I think we should go," Glenn answered as his eyes showed his reluctance, his statement catching Maggie's harsh glance. He shrugged his continue, "It's not ideal, but it's got everything we need."

Michonne's gaze was boring into them as usual, her eyes moving from one person to another with cat-like swiftness. Her stance was solid with her arms against her sides and legs shoulder-width apart-- a position the rest had gotten used to seeing quite often.

"What if they want to go back? They called that place home for so long; us going back may just get them thinking that we could all just live there. A lot of the women are more concerned about the fact where they're living now rather than worrying about what we're trying to hide from," Maggie pointed out with her hands resting at her hips, her shoulders pinched back to show her odds with the thought of going back to Woodbury. They had made a couple of runs to the make-shift town and she couldn't remember any of them going smoothly.

Rick hooked his thumbs into the sides of his pants, his face tense as it usually was these days. A part of him had considered that, but had been unsure of the possibility being probable.

"No one is making them stay here. If they want to leave, then they can."

Everyone looked at Carl in shock, the others feeling disjointed from hearing the words from such a young man. "I agree," Daryl backed him. "Don't want anyone here who don't wanna be here."

"No one made them come here in the first place," Carl insisted after the hunter, his chest swelling as he stood up straight.

"While that may be true," Rick started, "I don't want to turn anyone away until they choose to walk out of the gates themselves. It's best if we stick together."

The group agreed for the first time in the meeting, though they knew that one settlement would not suffice for their main concern. "So, are we goin' or what?" Daryl asked as his patience began to wear thin.

Rick's tongue snaked out and ran across his bottom lip before retreating. Each breath he took was long, filling his lungs as he studied the look on everyone's face. "We're going. Tomorrow. We'll round up some of the people we know won't cause a scene, and Daryl and I will go along with Maggie and Glenn to get the supplies."

Tension shifted amongst them as some were content and others were more than simple opposition of the decision. "We'll have to be ready for a struggle. I wouldn't doubt that Walkers are over running the place" Michonne finally spoke, her voice cutting through the room's tension. "When I was there, they would have a few of them a day coming up to the wall. Not mentioning the Walkers he kept for 'entertainment.'"

Without another word, Michonne walked off, her sword's handle moving with each step before her form completely disappeared from sight. A silence fell upon them as they shifted their attention elsewhere, some to the ground, others keeping their gazes aimed at the door Michonne had taken her exit through.

Carol swiveled her focus to Rick, her back straight with unhappiness. "When are you going to tell the others?"

"I'll tell them in a few minutes," was all he could say. The sooner he told them, the better. If they planned to leave in the morning, then they would need to figure out who was going tonight. "Who do you all think would be the best to go?"

A few names were thrown out in advice, but they settled with the fact that those who wanted to come would be the best choices to bring, so long as someone knew where the guns and food were. "Well, let's round them all up on the asphalt. Carl, could you bring whoever's on guard down from the tower?" His son nodded and trekked off with his hat pulling down low.

The others left the room, leaving only Daryl, Hershel, and Rick alone. "Think 3 of 'em would do?" Daryl wondered aloud, thinking of how many of them were coming and how little room they could take up without sacrificing any of the room for food and equipment.

"Three should do it," Hershel agreed, shifting his crutch so he could make his way outside with the others. Almost to the door, he turned around and looked at Rick. "You all be careful out there. We don't need to be losin' any of you, especially not when we need you the most." Rick nodded and watched as the old man proceeded to leave.

Daryl sighed and followed suit with Rick a few short steps behind. "I can already feel this goin' over badly," he told the sheriff, his words hushed and hurried as their feet bustled across the ground. Rick never replied and instead opted for silence until they entered the work yard where everyone had come to council. The father looked out at the large crowd huddled together in the shade of dusk, his baby daughter being held by the woman who was close to giving birth to her own baby. Though the scene was simple, the look of the mother-to-be holding his own made him stronger in his conviction of heading back to Woodbury.

"What's going on?" one of the members asked with a feared tone, her brows furrowed and her mouth curved downwards. "What's happened?"

Rick drew a breath, suddenly feeling Daryl by his side. "You all know that with such a big group as this," he started with palms on his waist of his pants and his voice booming, "supplies are vital. Everything we have has a use, and some of things we do have, we need more of." He was pleased to see that some of them were nodding in agreement, some with looks of confusion still on their faces as others wore looks of hidden contempt, most likely anticipating that they would be thrown out. "Now, from what I've heard, your town protected itself from breaches with weapons-- this is something we need. We also need food-- something which your town also has." More of the members were nodding their heads but stopped as they began to understand the implications of his speech. A few women looked appalled at the idea of returning, but the look of hesitation was shared by all, not wanting to accept what was being proposed to them. "Because we need these things, a few of us-- myself, Daryl," he gestured to Daryl and Glenn as he named them, "Glenn-- and hopefully a couple of you will help us make a run tomorrow to get these supplies. No one has to come, but it would be much appreciated and make the run go along a lot smoother."

Most of them were shocked with silence, their ears ringing with disbelief. They had just returned to safety of a prison and they wanted to go back out there? A few of the members were shaking their heads with disdain at the thought of having to go back out there. Only one lone hand raised itself, the palm calloused as well as the tip of each finger. Rick vaguely recognized him from the group Hershel had been teaching earlier near the crops. "I'll help," he called with a forced confidence. Beside him, a woman slowly raised her hand with her eyes set on the man with his hand raised.

"I'll go, too," she offered with her eyes still trained on the other volunteer. Another woman beside her elbowed the newest volunteer.

"Debby," the other woman spoke with shock, "you can't be serious. You haven't been out of Woodbury for a whole year!"

"We're out now," Debby retorted as she tore her eyes from the man.

"So, you wanna just go on a suicide mission?"

Rick cleared his throat and clarified for the group, "We'll be taking the bus, so that should be more than enough protection from Walkers up until we have to carry the supplies back to the bus."

The woman next to Debby gaped at him, then back to her friend without making a single blink. "You're both nuts." Her words were softly spoken, but they still rang clear in the group as she forced a path through the crowd to the tombs in a huff.

"Thank you, both," Rick said to the volunteers. "It's greatly appreciated that you're willing to do this." The crowd dispersed into smaller groups, each cluster furiously talking about what had just been witnessed; a few of them went inside to comfort the woman who had stomped off with anger. The couple walked up to Rick and Daryl, introducing themselves as Greg and Debby Bates. "Again, I thank you greatly for volunteering. We know it's not the most appealing idea," Rick sympathized, shaking each of their hands before introducing himself in full. "If you wouldn't mind, we would love to talk with you about the town's layout; it may not seem like much use, but knowing where everything is will help us from wasting time and get us back here before threat of dark."

Mr. and Mrs. Bates agreed, following Daryl and Rick to the back of the yard where they proceeded to make a map of the town, marking points where breaches may occur and where weapons were kept. More marks were made as the group strategized the best way of getting the supplies on the bus, trying to estimate how much equippment was there based upon the Bates' estimates.

"I can't believe they're going," the woman who had stormed off said again to the group huddled about her.

"It'll be okay, Rebecca," one of the men said to her, tired of her concern.

Other groups whispered around Beth and Maggie, the sisters stuck to each other. "I can't believe some of these people are reacting so badly to this," Maggie commented, her throat scratching against the disblief of their actions. "The ones who aren't going don't have to-- the two who are going volunteered."

"Well, when's the last time they had to go on a run?" Beth pointed out as she walked into her room and sat down on her bed with Maggie following suit.

Maggie sighed as she realized that this was the first one that the Woodbury people had to do in a long time, but her imagination couldn't conjure a world where such a priveleged life style would ever exist again. "I don't know," she finally huffed to her younger sibling, "but they're gonna have to get used to it real fast. We can't be going through this every time a run needs to be done. It'll cause more havoc than good in the end."

Beth nodded at her sister's words. "Rick was right leaving you out of the run," she suddenly lamented, "we would need you here while they're gone. Daddy and Carl have good shots, but we still need all the protection we need just in case something happens."

Maggie looked at Beth blankly, her eyes void of emotion. "The only thing we have to fear is Walkers. Or anyone else that may be around here still. Glenn'll be out there without me."

"He'll be fine," Beth assured as she rubbed Maggie's shoulder. "He got along on his own before he was with a group and even after they came to the farm, he still protected you. He'll keep himself protected." Silence fell between the two as parts of conversations around them began to invade their ears. Some comments were negative, others were aimed to reassure others that the Woodbury run would be, but most seemed to be on the fence, worried about what might happen while the run was taking place: another attack? The Governor whom they once trusted returning to reclaim the land? If the Governor returned, could they really be able to shoot him if need be?

As the night took over the sky, people meandered into the cells, their conversations now hushed while many others were now moving on to new topics. Hershel could be seen in deep conversation with the mother-to-be in the corner of the room, the woman's hands gently rubbing her swollen belly with her back recling against the wall. In another corner, Glenn was discussing with two men from Woodbury about taking gaurd for the night, something that they seemed to be agreeing to with earnest. Under the stairwell, Carl leaned against the wall, watching as Beth, Carol, and a number of Woodbury women chatting above their sewing. With so many hands helping her at once-- all ranging from early teens to their mid-forties-- it seemed that all the pathwork Carol had wanted to do would get done within the next couple of days. She planned to teach some of the other girls who were already asleep later on with some of the scraps of fabric that she felt were unsalvagable by patchwork. Rick, Daryl, and the Bates' straggled inside last as many of the group were tucking themselves in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and thanks for the kudos I've gotten! Don't forget to leave a comment to tell me what to improve on or what you would like to see more of. :)


	4. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Members leave the prison for the Woodbury run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely the longest by far, for good reason, so I hope you like it :)

The morning came too soon for some, but the sun still rose over the horizon and lighted the ruin the world had become. With the land ruled by the dead, Rick and Daryl prepped those going on the run with knives and a fire weapon each, showing them how to turn off the safety while Glenn stood a few feet away talking to his fiance in whispers. "Only use it when necessary," Rick warned them. "Noise attracts them and we don't need to be causing any trouble for ourselves." The couple nodded and made their way into the bus, sitting across the aisle from each other. Daryl soon followed them, his trusty bow hanging over his shoulder as the strap encircled his arm, the glint of his knife coming from he belt. Rick took one last look around the prison, seeing some of the group against the wall, some of the parents holding their children by their shoulders; most were indoors, trying to keep their minds busy with gathering laundry.

Carl stepped to his father's side, leaning against the grill of the bus with his brim tipped up and fully exposing his face. "I want to go," he stated plainly as he readied himself for a fight. Rick could only look down at his son as he realized that he was growing up so quickly, his hair long and shaggy like the Beatles poster he had in his own room when growing up.

For a moment, Rick considered it. "They need you here. In case any of us don't come back, we're all going to need you to protect the prison from attacks," he said.

"I've been on runs before."

"I know that," his father quipped, "but that was different; we were all together and there were a lot less of us." Carl squinted with discontent clouding his eyes. The young teen nodded with jaw tight and walked off to help open the gate. "You coming, Glenn?" Rick asked, turning around to see Glenn and Maggie close to each other, their heads pulling towards each other in a final kiss before Glenn backed away from her and going on board.

Standing alone, Maggie's arms were crossed over her stomach, her hair blowing against her face gently as she pulled her sleeves further into her fists. "You sure you don't need me?" she assured more for herself rather than for the sake of them coming back; if she were to go in Glenn's place, then maybe she would feel better about it.

"We need you here more. You know how to keep them protected best." Her lips disappeared into themselves as she nodded, letting Rick take his seat at the wheel. Michonne came from the crowd and took a seat at the back of the bus, her sword firmly placed within her hand.

With a turn of the key, the engine's roar shook the bus to life, quivering as it idled. A moment later, the bus was rolling forward, curving around to the fence where Walkers had already begun to groan at the sound between their advances. Carl and Carol were pulling open the gate as the Walkers and bus approached them, preparing to close it quickly after the bus was able to go through. The two pulled the fence open in time for the metal box to roll between the opening before flying down the dirt road leading to the prison, Walkers uselessly following the vehicle that was now disappearing into the thicket of trees. A handful of the dead were heading to the gate, still, the scent of living having enraptured them. As quick as they could, Carl and Carol worked the fence closed, securing it shut as the dead reached the chain link. Hands went through the barrier in vain attempts of obtaining their prey.

The group of Walkers gurgled fiercely as they clawed at the flesh before them, their frosted, decayed bodies reeking of stale blood and the stink of muck they had acquired since they had turned. Bloody rips colored their greyed faces-- at least, what was left of them-- stemmed from their missing jaws and dissolved lips. One by one, the dead were finally put to rest with knives, crowbars, and fire pokers all through their heads.

Silence was present for most of the ride, Debby looking out the window as she pressed the tip of her knife to her knee to draw meaningless figures through the fabric of her khakis. Daryl sat in front of her, resting with his legs across the seat, his back against the window as he enjoyed the concentrated warmth the glass created. Glenn faced his window, but he saw nothing as his mind was busy thinking about Maggie; the thought of them getting married warming him to a lopsided smile that was hidden from the others. Though the world had changed, he wanted to still have a small ceremony for their wedding; it wouldn't be like the ones before the civilized world had collapsed, but he hoped for Hershel to unite them with vows as some witnessed the union.

Greg huffed silently as he stared at the scorched Georgian meadows surrounding the highway, silhouetting the greyed outlines of Walkers meandering aimlessly for their next meal. "Whatta you think caused it?"  he asked to no one in particular. Daryl opened an eye and stared at the chestnut locks on Greg's head.

"Who knows?" the hunter asked in disdain for the topic. "It's not if we ever found out we would be able to actually make a difference. None of us are scientists and ain't none of us are gonna try to feed them any type of antidote."

Glenn turned in his seat to look at the man behind him. " _Is_ anyone from Woodbury from any kind of field like that? A scientific background, I mean," he asked of Mr. Bates with sincere curiosity. Rick's ears perked up as the question received an affirmative.

"Who?" asked the driver, his head spinning around to look at the gentleman with repressed excitement.

Debby looked at Rick as her knife rocked back and forth on its point, still resting on her knee. "One guy-- a real professional-- he was named Milton. He and the Governor were real close," she informed matter-of-factly.

Her husband confirmed his wife's words. "Last I heard, he was working on experiments to see if there was a hope for them; he was convinced that they held some sort of memory of their old selves. He never made it to the prison with us though."

"That's because Milton is dead," Michonne stated clearly with aggressive solidity. "He was stabbed and left in a room with Andrea tied to a chair. He turned and bit her." A cold silence fell among them as Rick trained his eyes on the road, unsure of how to follow such a statement.

"Wh--," Debby hesitated knowing she wasn't sure if she wanted that answer. "Was it him?" she finally managed to ask as her body swiveled to look Michonne eye-to-eye. Michonne did not need clarification; she simply nodded with nostrils flared as she now thought of the Governor being the cause of her friend's death.

"He also kept his daughter in his closet," Michonne added, wanting to expose the fraud for whom he really was. The Bates' were taken aback at the statement.

"What do you mean? His daughter was deathly ill over a year ago, right when we first started building Woodbury," Greg explained to her as his brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned downwards.

Her dark eyes bore into his as she described what she had seen when she stabbed his eye out. "There was a small room filled with tanks, each with at least two heads, all facing a recliner. In that room was a closet where he had his daughter, chained with a bag over her head. She turned and he kept her in the closet." The news struck the Bates' into a chilled horror. The idea of a Walker living inside the walls of what they had called a safe haven frightened them; the hindsight of consequence if she had somehow gotten loose upon the city, they realized that he had put them at risk when he told them that it was safe. He had lied to them all about the town being safe, and about his daughter, so what else did he lie about?

Woodbury rolled into view as the bus approached the open barricade. Parking the vehicle sideways with the door facing into the town, Rick had made sure to get the bus length across the opening as an extra measure of control. They all piled off and dispersed, almost sprinting towards the areas they had each taken on in order to get the work done as quickly as they could with the least amount of problems. Michonne stood behind Daryl and Glenn as planned, protecting the gun room from any attacks as they collected bushels of guns into the sheriff bag they found, each arm carrying as much as they could without dropping any. “Can’t believe they have this many military-grade stuff,” Glenn commented as he carried about a dozen fire arms with the protection of Michonne’s sword behind him.

“The first week we were here, a military helicopter crashed into a field. One of the men was still alive so they brought him back here. The Governor went to look for the rest of the soldiers, but he came back saying that they had been too late, saying that Walkers had gotten to them. I was looking at the tank, but it looked like there was an attack. The tank’s rifle seemed unfired and some of the splatters added up to an ambush,” Michone replied cooly as she hurried her pace to keep up with the men in front of her.

They loaded the guns near the back of the bus, emptying the bag in order to get the rest of ammunition that they had been unable to fit into the first trip. As the trio were heading back to the gun room a yell could be heard echoing between the buildings. "That sounded like Rick," noted Glenn as the three had stopped, unsure of what was about to happen.

"You go, I'll get the bullets," Daryl gruffed out as he took hold of the bag and made his way to the gun room with a sprint. Michonne and Glenn rushed to the sound, barely stopping for her to decapitate a one-armed walker that made the mistake of getting in their path. The boom of a gun shot rang out as they  neared the food pantry, another bang quickly following the first. The cries of Mrs. Bates could be heard amongst the guttural growls of the Walkers.

The two finally made it to the scene, finding a small swarm of Walkers had made it into the town, almost a dozen of them surrounding their companions, prying for Debby through an alcove she had made for herself composed of a discarded fence piece and the brick wall at the end of the alley. Not far from her was her husband, fending off the Geeks with a metal pipe that had once supported the chain link that his wife was now using for protection. Picking up a piece of fence-lumber, Glenn jumped into action and began to yell. "Hey! Hey!" he repeated, getting the attention of four of the dead, all of them shifting their target  from Debby to Glenn. As they approached, Glenn drove the shattered end through the Walker's socket, pushing out the back of the head and spraying blood, brain matter, and the fragments of yellowed eye onto the next one of Glenn's victims. Michonne handled her sword with ease as she took care of the three that were still pursuing the other woman. Her attention then turned to the battle between Greg and three others.

"Help! Please!" he begged between swings before a Walker pinned him to the wall. Michonne lunged and sent her blade through the side of its head, going in one ear and protuding from the other. She wasted no time in withdrawing and slicing through the head of another corpse. The swoosh of Glenn swinging another pipe he managed to pick up from the rubble made a crack as it met the rotting flesh of another Walker, the body falling to the ground and open to Glenn's frustration, each slam of the pipe splitting the cranium as a river of blood puddled upon the ground, brain mass spilling over the fragments of skull. Greg had finally gotten composure pushing the last of the group against a wall and driving the pipe through the center of its forehead

"Where's Rick?" Glenn asked short of breath, his arms at his sides as he was preparing to run.

"He went off to look for you guys. He left the room right before us," Debby panted.

Adrenaline-fueled, all four of them ran back into the main street where they could see Daryl stabbing another Walker near the entrance of the bus, the bag of ammo setting on the stairs leading in. "Rick went off on his own," Glenn yelled, his hand still wrapped around a pipe. "He went looking for us for some reason."

"The fuck he do that for?" crossed Daryl angrily, looking at each one of them in turn for an answer. Greg was the only one to shake his head.

"We don't know. He said he was looking for you and ran out the pantry."

They all panted softly, Debby bent over with her palms at her knees as she attempted to regain her breath. "I heard gunshots," she gasped, "were they any of yours?" The others shook their heads. "It must've been him. He must have taken a wrong turn and found a few friends of his own."

Daryl threw the bag further into the bus and did his best to close the doors. "Glenn, Greg, you guys come with me and we'll worry 'bout the side with the gun room. You two worry about the other," he instructed to them all before they split up once more.

Daryl, Greg, and Glenn alternated alleyways, calling out for their friend. After a few minutes and a handful of alleys, they finally heard him calling back. "Keep yelling, buddy!" Greg called as he ran down a walk way that was near the back of the acre-sized city. He could still hear Rick's faint cries, getting stronger with each step, the sound of footsteps hurrying behind him. A glance backwards reasssured Greg that it was Daryl and Glenn backing him. Near the end of an alleyway, a door had been pried open and now stood ajar, Rick's voice greeting them from within.

"Help! I'm in here!" Though Rick's voice seemed stronger than before, the sound was still weak. The three men threw the door open and stood with their weapons at ready, Glenn and Greg's pipes now replaced with their guns as Daryl's crossbow was raised and ready. "I hear you! I'm in here!" the voice echoed in the room, another door open. They followed it an found a room of darkness, the only ounce of light coming from the entrance they had just come through. The light was submissive to the shadows, only giving glimpses of the scenery around them. "I'm hurt," came Rick's voice, dejected and pained. "I twisted my ankle trying to get away. I lost my gun," he called back out, his voice seeming to be much closer now. Greg fished around in his pockets and found a small flashlight that used to call his key chain home. With the little light they could get from it, Rick could now be viewed in the far corner of the room, one knee raised as his other leg lay flat against the floor. Rick's eyes were staring at them, his head resting against the junction of wall, his back hugging another structure that looked to be a desk. "Where are the others?" he instantly asked, noticing that Michonne and Debby were not amongst them, a strike of fear twinging inside him as he began to interpret what he was seeing.

"They're out searching for you and getting some more food," Glenn informed his friend, going forward to help him up. Rick's eyes were now sunken with pain and tiredness, the shock of his fall taking the breath out of him as the pain of his ankle throbbed with each passing second. Glenn looked down at the injury and grimaced, unable to hide the wince from Rick. "I'm not gonna lie to you, that looks gnarly. You and Hershel are gonna be fighting over the crutch for a while." The father of two chuckled at his younger friend, but his laughter stopped short when he noticed the blood on his clothes.

"The Walkers get to you too?"

"Some Geeks had cornered Deb and Greg," Daryl said, tucking the bow around his back to help Glenn with steadying Rick. The two lifted their comrad from beneath his arms and helped him out of the rooms back to main street where they could see Michonne leaving the bus, the sheriff bag clutched in her palm.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice lighter than usual as a wisp of concern broke her voice. She jumped from the last step and walked towards them.

"I twisted my ankle and lost my gun in the process," Rick's bitter words were spat from the back of his throat as he kicked himself for not only leaving two people who trusted him alone, but for being clumsy enough to make such a rookie mistake. Michonne nodded, but said nothing as she moved over to let them pass by.

By the time Daryl and Glenn had successfully worked Rick onto one of the seats, Deb was briskly walking back with her arms full of canned food. She stacked them in the back across from the guns where she had placed the other products from the first pantry run. "It would be easier to just used some of the blankets to carry the food," Greg suggested. "We need thos, too, so why not make it easier on ourselves, right?" The others agreed and followed the Bates' to where the rooms were, Glenn opting to stay behind to protect Rick from any Walkers that may be left to come by. Within a few trips, more than two dozen blankets had been collected. In a bundled quilt, Deb had placed all the clothes she could find, the fabrics fitted for the baby that was expected to come any day to a full grown adult. A few of the blankets were taken to the pantry and brought back as bundles filled to the point of almost being too heavy to lift, nearly clearing out the pantry in a couple trips. The only things the group hadn't put into the bundles were seed packets, which they decided to carry by hand to the bus. Practically filling the back seats with equippment and supplies, they finally finished the collection just after high time, the sun warming their skin comfortably against the cooling air of the incoming autumn season.

"You okay there buddy?" Greg checked on Rick, the latter's eyes out of focus and his head lolling off to the side at times.

Rick cleared his throat, unable to nod due to his nasuea and pain. "Just hurt. I'll be better once Hershel gets a look at me." The rest of their outting boarded the bus, Glenn taking the driver's seat and twisting the metal back to life. His hand gripped the shift, but he stopped to turn around.

"Should be close the barricade this time?" he asked. "In case we have to come back here for anything?"The others looked at Rick for an answer who could only mumble ta denial of the question, saying that they wouldn't need to be coming back for a long time, if ever. Glenn undertood and turned back to driving, shifting into gear and making the trek back to the prison.

As the bus rolled out from the forest, many were shocked to see it return so quickly. Carl and Carol clambered to pull the gate back for the bus and made just of a hurry to close it once more, stepping another few Walkers from going through the barrier. 


	5. Heros and Home

“What happened?” the group clamored in fear as they saw the six pile off of the bus, each one of them covered in guts and gore. Some members pulled the Bates’ into an embrace, holding on for dear life as they ignored the blood that was now getting on their own clothes. Whispers of gratitude of them surviving the run went into the couples’ ears as a new pair of arms encircled them, one after another.

Daryl jumped from the last step, bow on his back. “Just a couple of Walkers that went through the gate. We left it open, remember?” snarled Dixon at the crowd around the bus. “Now move back; we need to take Rick to go see Hershel,” he continued, directing them to step away from the door of the bus. Glenn appeared at the top of the stairs with Rick’s arm around his neck, an arm around Rick’s back as the youngster helped the wounded down the steps gingerly. At the bottom, Daryl reached an arm out to let Rick lean on while stepping off the bus, the weight barely making Daryl flinch. Together, Glenn and Daryl helped their friend inside the prison towards Hershel’s cell.

“Is it a bite?” Hershel asked wide-eyed as he saw Rick being carried in.

Glenn shook his head. “He tripped and broke his ankle when the Walkers showed up,” he gulped between breaths after setting the elder Grimes on a cot. “I saw it back there when we found him— did not look pretty.”

Agreement echoed from Daryl as he stepped out of the cell in attempt to make room for the doctor. With a few others, Daryl watched as Hershel leaned into his patient, examining the ankle closely, softly feeling about the  area so as not to cause any more hurt. The archer turned around after seeing the beginning of the examination, his mind back on the bus. He made his way back outside with an announcement to the block saying there was still a bus-load of supplies to carry out, his yell reverberating off the plain cement walls. When he got back to the vehicle, Michonne was still up against the bus with her arms crossed in front of her chest. As per usual, her face was stone and her demeanor calm. Carl and Carol stood at the base of the watch tower, occasionally slamming a metal pipe through the skull of the living dead, their ears perked to detect the hint of assistance needed from them.

“Looks like we’ll have to carry it out ourselves,” Daryl sighed, unhappy to say such a simple fact. 

Michonne looked at him. “Not even the other two are going to help us?” she asked with the hint of disbelief tinging her voice. He could only shake his head in return. The two swallowed the truth and set to work on unloading the bus, alone, as others were talking in groups once more, muttering about what had just happened.

Down at the gate, Carol was pulling a pipe out of the half-rotten face of a woman who had blond locks whilst alive. She watched the corpse fall in a heap at her feet, the dinginess of her light jeans and ragged pink t-shirt settling on the earth probably 9 months too late. Carol took comfort in the idea that, if there were a better place in the afterlife, she had helped the soul of that once-person fully escape the mortal realm. Moving her eyes away from the corpse, she looked over at Carl, his intent on killing those clawing at him the most spiking with each strike of the metal to decaying brain.

When the last body had fallen, he stepped back from the pile he had made. His breathing was violent as if he had held his breath since the first plunge of the pipe and finally remembered how to breathe properly. “Have you checked on how your dad’s doing?” Carol asked, her eyes crossed with worry and brows furrowed together.

Carl turned his head to look at her. “I’ll go see him after he gets fixed up,” he said after a moment of silence. If she had been honest, she would admit that she was convinced that he would not answer her. She nodded, understanding that he didn’t want to see his father in pain, especially in a position of vulnerability; up until this point, he had not had to see his father like this since Rick had been shot on duty—and that happened well over a year ago before the world went to shit.

“Yeah,” she croaked through a tickle in her throat, “that’s probably best.” A pregnant silence fell over them, the only sound coming from the feeble grunts in the distance of Walkers aimlessly traveling through the grass field about them. “Do you remember when you blew up at me? Back on Hershel’s farm— about believing Sophia would be alright?” she asked finally, the words bubbling deep from within her. He had never apologized for it, but that was not the reason she brought it up; truthfully, she wasn’t completely sure as to why she was bringing it up, but it felt like the right thing to do.

The young man’s face grimaced in fright of all the negative feelings swelling inside him— the sting of hearing Sophia’s name and how she had been his true friend, the regret of being so harsh to her when she was in a time of despair, and most importantly, the guilt of not doing as his mother had told and apologizing as he should have. “I’m sorry,” he said barring emotion from his voice, but meaning every letter. “I shouldn’t have done that. Especially when…,” he paused, not wanting to talk about the hunt that had gone on for Carol’s little girl. Carol nodded; she understood.

“It’s okay,” she acclaimed to his sincerity. “I over-reacted as well in that situation.” Carl’s smile was small as he felt the topic linger in the air, his mind wanting nothing more than to move on to a new one. “Have you been getting along with the other kids?” she asked finally, air filling her tone as she tried to make the topic less serious. To her dismay, Carl’s features hardened and he turned away to stare at the nothingness along the forest line.

“Haven’t really talked to them much,” he said clear of emotions, wishing that the old topic would rear its ugly head. “We’ve got nothing in common anyways.”

“How do you know that if you haven’t really talked to them?”

“What would we have in common? They’ve been holed up in a safe town for a year with no need to actually do anything and they haven’t had to face the real world until today when my dad came back with his ankle twisted,” spat back Carl, his anger stemming from their privileged lives and not her for bringing it up. Carol looked at him blankly. She didn’t know about the life they had at Woodbury, so she couldn’t play devil’s advocate on this one.

The two didn’t speak for a moment, Carl now looking at her with his hat pushed up to reveal his face. “You don’t know that,” she simply stated as her head went back to look at the Walkers. “You haven’t lived with them, so you don’t know what they’ve been through. Regardless of how they lived,” she cut him off, turning a fierce gaze on him, his mouth beginning to open to retort, “we are all living together, and keeping a grudge against them won’t help anyone right now. They may not be familiar to you, but when you have to go out on a run with one of them— which you will, I can promise that now that your father’s hurt— you’re gonna have to trust them to have your back. That’s a hell of a lot easier to do when you know that person instead of signing them off just because of where they came from.” Carl was silent as he looked at her with thinned lips. Carol stared back at him as she left the pipe brush against her pant leg. “Your mother raised you better than this.” Though her voice was soft, Carl’s stomach flinched as if he had just been yelled at.

He watched as Carol walked away from  him with the pipe in her hand coming to rest against the nape of her neck, her hands draping around the other side; he continued to watch until he saw her join the others unloading the bus.

Anger and guilt mixed in his stomach as the thoughts of Sophia and his mother swirled in his mind, all at once trying to shy from what he felt. Now was not the time to grieve; now was not the time to think about the past. He had to keep thinking of surviving. As his father had promised, a time where he would have to kill his parents would come and he would have to be ready, just as he had for his mother; if his father wasn’t able to recover from his injury, then the time would come closer for Carl to shoot his father; a mercy killing so he wouldn’t become a thoughtless body with a hunger for blood and brains.

The thought was not pleasant in his mind, nor was it unpleasant— it was what had to be done in order to be humane; people were either shot to death, or they would come back to life and harm those still human. They lived long enough to become heroes; any longer and they would see themselves become evil.

A shiver ran up Carl’s back as he mulled over the new facts of life, the facts of this new world that he had been jolted into; it was the world that had taken his mother, the world that took Shane, the world that would eventually take his father, and the one that would one day take him and his sister. It was that moment that Carl vaguely wished that Judy hadn’t been born— she didn’t deserve a world like this; she deserved a world better than the one that was present. She would never be able to go to school, or go on a field trip, or live worry-free like he did growing up; she would have to be moved around, one place to another as the days passed. He sighed at her future and trekked back to the prison. Hershel was probably done with his father’s leg by now.

Rick was sitting laying down on his cot when Carl walked in to check on him. Hershel was convinced that the ankle suffered a minor fracture as well as a serious sprain by the look of the swelling. The doctor had wrapped the area and had a small bar from one of the prison door aligned with his leg to give support and keep the leg from moving inappropriately. “You need to lay low for a while,” he ordered his patient once he was finished with the wrap. “At least for a week.” That news had plastered a worried frown on his face, but the sight of his son turned his frown into a smile.

“You okay?” Carl asked, his hand wanting to touch the bandage but hesitated. He saw his father nod.

“Gonna be out for a week, though. The good news is that we got everything we needed: blankets, guns, food. If we ever need any more, we could go get whatever we left.”

Carl nodded and took a seat across from him. Rick comforted him, “I’m alright. There’s nothing to worry about. Just need a rest is all.” His son nodded once more.

“I know,” was all he said.

“Then what’s the matter?” Rick asked, leaning up on his elbows to look at his son in the eyes.

Carl shrugged, caught between not knowing what to say and knowing exactly what he needed to talk about. Judy’s faint cry came from down the cell block, filling the emptiness between father and son. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Carly finally managed as he listened to his baby sister. Beth’s sweet voice mixed in with the cries and Carl sighed in relief at her caring of Judy.

In the other cells, groups of people were huddling together, some closely connected while others were spread out to sort blankets and section off food that they would be putting away in the "pantry"-- a room that they had begun to store food into since they were somewhat afraid to go back into the prison's kitchen in case Walkers had somehow managed to get in there. Another room was set up for guns, almost 50 of them, was being set up next to the food store. Down on the first floor, Carol and Maggie were sorting through the blankets, counting them and figuring out which ones needed repairs or if any of them could be reused for some other job; Glenn and Daryl were busy checking over the guns and organizing the room. "I don't see why we can't go back to Woodbury," whispered one of the men to Deb as they sat outside in the court yard, afraid of being over heard by someone. Whether it was a fellow Woodbury citizen or one of the people who had been calling the prison home, he didn't want the word getting spread around camp. 

Deb raised her brows at him, her hands fisting in her lap. "Do you want to go back there, Jim? It won't be like before," she told him, her eyes staring deep into his as Jim was unable to make his eyes stray from the blood splatter that had painted her right temple. "It's already over-run by a few Walkers, there's less guns than before, less food, and less blankets." Jim gaped at her; he hadn't thought that she would be so against the idea when she had been one of the few who helped started the town. He was also shocked that she was not trying to keep her volume low to avoid others hearing her talk. "Not only that, but what if he comes back and he's not alone?" her words were now soaking with venom as she squinted at him, a part of her hoping that he would open his mouth and say something stupid. "We know he did a mass homicide on the little army we let people go into, thinking that the people here were against us-- so what makes us think that we'd stand a chance against him? And none of us knew he kept his Walker-daughter in the closet of his apartment-- just think of everything he could have lied about if he lied about her death!"

Her tone was not only harsh now, but some people had begun to look over at them with eyes wide. Many of them had not been eavesdropping before, but with her shouting, they couldn't ignore the fact that Mrs. Bates said the Governor had kept his Walker-turned daughter in a closet-- he had kept a Walker inside Woodbury, where they were all supposed to be safe. Down at the gate, Carl was looking back at the group Deb was sitting in. In the watch tower, a couple looked back at the prison to see the commotion.

A long pause rested in the front of the prison entrance, all of them afraid of provoking Deb more while others were still trying to grasp the idea that the man they had entrusted with authority was not a hero, but a monster from the darkest corners that fear dared not even go. "Who told you that?" one of the teen girls finally asked with a timid voice.

"The woman with the sword-- the one we took in with Andrea," Deb replied with her temper calming. "If anyone goes back, I'm not going there. I may not know the people here well, but I at least know I'm safer here than grabbing at the hope of yesterday. What's in the past is in the past, and I'm living in the present for the future with no time for risking my life for someone's comfort." Next to her, Greg slipped his hand around hers and brushed his thumb against her wrist. He knew she had been unhappy with him going on the run, but he had no idea that she had been thinking about these things since that morning. His wife pulled her hand away from his and stood up. No one stopped her as she went into the tombs to help Carol and the girls sort through the materials she had helped bring home.


	6. Saving Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension rises in the group as more thoughts sprout from Jim's proposal: Why don't they just go back to Woodbury?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5/3/13-- I updated the chapter because the woman at Woodbury was more of a Rose rather than a Rosa and that bothered me. I'll be working on chapter 7 tonight and hopefully posting that on Monday or something.

 

 

A couple days had passed since Woodbury, now nothing but a connective thought, had been exposed to the fact that the Governor’s daughter had been turned and was kept inside the walls. Most of them believed it, their trust in the man they once respected had been ripped to shreds when they saw the carnage of what was left of the army he put some of their friends in to; it was the rare few that didn’t believe it who would often cause trouble. Bickering had rushed through the prison like wildfire, entire groups against only a couple of people who were unconvinced that the Governor could have done something so horrendous. Others chose to stay out of the debates and yelling matches, but everyone felt the divide; it was hard to miss when the tension had become thicker than tomb walls.

The tension affected everyone, making some of them jump more often and forcing them away from watch duty at the tower, which caused others to take double shifts. Many of the women had fought with their husbands and brothers on whether the prison was safe or not. Ever since Jim had mentioned going back to live in the ghost town, people had begun talking about it— some more seriously than others— and the idea was now appealing to a few of them, but thought that Debbie Bates was right; the place was not the same, and they wouldn’t have a chance going against the Governor if he ever chose to reclaim the town he had helped build. “Just drop it,” one woman begged to her friend as they had helped stock the pantry. “Please, drop it!’

Her friend quipped back, “Well, do you want to be in a prison for the rest of your life? If we get enough people, I’m sure we could start rebu—.”

“Enough!” the beggar yelled before slamming the last can onto the cot-turned-shelf and taking her exit.

Rick and the others knew that Woodbury was the talk of the prison— should they go live there like before?; should they bring the people from the prison for added protection or would that cause more havoc?; would there be enough of them to fend for themselves without the extra man power should an attack fall upon them? Though Rick primarily ignored the discussions in order to focus on repairing the wall, he could still feel the tension rise as the brink of a split threatened the group. “Don’t worry about them fucks,” Daryl had advised, slipping into his old character as if his brother was still around, “if they want to leave, they would have left by now.” The others had offered him words of support as well, the paranoia of Rick having another breakdown and seeing Lori again being a fear to them now that there were more people for him to really protect.

The fighting and tension had actually caused the pregnant woman to begin her labor, the contractions far apart since she had gone past her due date. Every few hours, the contractions would start again, paralyzing her into a single position, squeezing the living day light out of whatever she could grab onto. Maggie yelped at one of the moments it had been her who stood too close, calculating what would be done about the wall in the administrative section of the prison. Her engagement ring was her saving grace as Rose squeezed her, hurting her own hand rather than Maggie’s flesh cut off by the band.

“Looks like they’re ready to make their entrance,” commented Hershel as he stared at her swollen belly. He looked up at her face and saw how worn she was, bags falling under her eyes. “You told me you had an epidural last time?” he asked of her and received a nod. “And you had a C-section, correct?”

“Yes,” Rose confirmed between gulps of air in order to gain composure. From the corner of her eye, she could see some of the Woodbury children watching her, some of the teens looking at her with fear in their eyes. Seeing the fear in their eyes plucked at her heart; she didn’t want to make the girls afraid of their own bodies. “Do you have anything to give me?” she asked after gesturing for him to lean closer. “Any pain killers from the infirmary? Or something from the medic wing at Woodbury?”

The old man sadly shook his head. “Is the pain that bad? You’re only just starting to really get going, he reason, not thinking that her choice was being influenced by those watching her. She knew he was right, though;her contractions had started early that morning over 6 hours ago, but now the spasms came every hour. “I wasn’t going to give you anything until your water broke,” he confessed.

“I don’t want to scare them.”

Hershel looked at the group of children Rose pointed out with her eyes. He could see the fear plain-as-day, just as she had and understood her intentions. “I’m still going to have to say no,” he informed her after turning back around to face her. Though, they were in a cell, it couldn’t stop people from looking at her each time she tensed to brace the contractions. “No epidurals in a mens prison and the pain killers we do have will affect the baby.”

Roseunderstood and dropped the subject, choosing to tell the kids to go play outside. Some scattered to the yard at her instruction, relieved to have finally torn their eyes from the spectacle. The few who stayed behind were yelled at by the labored woman who had to sit up in order for them to walk away. “Could you tell the mothers to keep their kids outside until afterwards? If they get upset, remind them that they don’t want their kids to see a woman cut open to have a C-section,” she requested of Hershel who had moved from her side when the first wave of children had dispersed.

“We may not have to do that,” he warned. “If there’s a complication, I’ll do it, but I’m not fixing to cut you open off the bat.”

She rolled her eyes at his remark. “Chances are, you will, so just tell them. If you don’t have to open me up, then at least we won’t have an audience,” she pointed out. The doctor nodded and went to recruit his daughters with his effort.

The Greene clan had managed to get all the children out of the building with the help of their parents. As the last of siblings left the prison steps, Beth went to the prison’s medical unit for more pain killers at her father’s request; her older sister walking behind her with a knife for protection. “So, when’s the wedding?” Beth asked to make small talk.

Maggie shot her younger sister a confused look before going back on the look out for predators. “We haven’t even been engaged for a full month,” she answered shortly.

Beth could only look at her sister. “Why wait? Want to get the right amount of Walkers on the guest list?” Maggie couldn’t find the words to say, but Beth didn’t give her the time to respond. “There’s no reason to wait when the world is like this!”

“I don’t need to be chastised by you,” Maggie fiercely reported as her arms fell limp to her sides. “Especially from someone who wanted to kill themselves because of how the world was and suddenly wants to jump at a marriage.” She regretted the words as soon as she had said them, her heart breaking as Beth’s face fell.

“Well,” Beth began as she straightened her face into an emotionless mask, “fine. I won’t bring it up again. Sorry.”

With that, she turned on her heel and continued to walk down the corridor to the medical wing. Maggie quickly followed after her sister, catching up after a few steps to apologize. “Listen,” the older sister began, but Beth spun on a dime and cut her off.

“No, you listen. I don’t care if you get mad at me— it’ll happen and I can’t stop that, but one thing I damn sure won’t stand is my own sister holding my past over my head when it’s completely irrelevant to the situation— so how dare you bring that up when I was just wanting to know.”

Maggie gulped down her pride, looking at the ground in shame. She knew it was a low blow and kicked herself for even saying it. “You’re right,” she confessed. “I shouldn’t have said that and I’m sorry.” A pause hung between them as she searched for words to express her regret properly, but couldn’t find any worthy. Instead, she settled for, “It will never cross my mind again; not something that cruel and stupid.”

Beth scuffed her shoe against the ground, her gaze wandering from her sister’s face to the ground before she wrapped her arms around Maggie. “Promise?” she whispered into her sister’s ear hair as they squeezed each other tight.

“I swear.” As Maggie spoke, she could hear the low groan echoing in the  hall. They froze at the sound, but quickly broke away to look around them. The hall was clear, but the sound was unmistakable— a Walker had found its way to this side of the prison.

Slowly, they took a step forward, careful to not make a sound; they didn’t want the Walker to hear more noise and come looking for them and they didn’t want to cover any groans that would give away the creature’s position. Each step felt like a death trap to Beth as she felt her heart race. Flashes of the barn being over-run played through her mind like a bad movie as she hoped they wouldn’t run into the Walker. Maggie looked behind them, making sure that they weren’t being attacked where their eyes couldn’t reach. When she saw an empty hallway, she turned her head forward once more.

Another gurgle echoed in the hallway, a distinct shuffle accompanying it as they reached a passage that led down another hall. Maggie reached out and pulled her sister against the wall, the knife taking place of her finger as it went against her lips to silence Beth. She didn’t want to run the risk of catching the Walker’s attention without finding out if there were more around the corner waiting for them.

Beth stood flush against the wall with her back, watching as Maggie inched towards the corner of the turn, her gaze going down the other end of the hall. As a precaution, Beth looked back the way they came from to see nothing; though her father had taught her how to work a knife to protect herself, she didn’t think she could bring herself to use the blade on a Walker without having fence between her and her attacker. The weight of the cold hunting knife was an undeniable sensation as she turned back to see Maggie peering around the corner with her chest against the wall.

Down the corner, Maggie saw the predator turned prey walking. Its skin was sagging around the skeleton, its clothes loose around the body where an arm had been lost below the elbow, the monster’s starvation causing the bagginess around its midsection. Part of the scalp was missing, exposing the tarnished yellow of the cranium, red stains faintly painting the shell. She could see some of the skin on his chin peeling away, barely hanging on to the face. Its walk was sluggish and wobbly as one of the ankles appeared to have broken at some point— most likely when the man had been running away from the Walker that turned him. For a moment, Maggie pitied the man, but she pushed the feeling aside as she realized that whoever this man was, he was no longer there; it was simply the evil shell of who it once was, the soul replaced by that of a blood-thirsty monster.

The Walker stepped jaggedly, groaning again when he caught another whiff of life, the jaw snapping at the air before it as if that would feed his hunger. Maggie gripped the knife tighter in her palm and showed herself to the dead, her arms at her sides. Her movement caught the Walker’s attention and it snarled at her, its pace picking up as he went to retrieve his well-deserved meal in who-knows-how-long. She ran at him, knife raised above her head as she prepared to plunge the blade through the exposed skull.

Blood splattered as the knife pushed through the decaying bone with little resistance, Maggie’s face and arm baring the brunt of the explosion. Beth came out from behind the corner with her hand on her knife’s handle when she heard Maggie grunt with the stab of her weapon. “You okay?” the younger Greene asked of her sibling.

Maggie nodded, her clean arm wiping some of the smear off of her face. She spat some of the debris away from her mouth and frowned. “Let’s just get this done with,” she suggested feeling the blood running down her neck and into her bra, flecks of red now surrounded by dripping streams. Beth agreed and the two moved quickly through the hallway, taking care to not attract any more Walkers as they reached their destination and grabbed as many pills as they could.

When they returning, Rose was moaning in pain, her hand white as it gripped the metal barrier around the cot she laid upon. Sweat spotted her brow as she fought against the pain, resisting the urge to scream bloody murder. “Did you get bit?” Hershel asked his daughter as he saw the blood over her body, Rose trying to regain her breath back as Beth handed over the 4 bottles of pills and a box of surgical gloves.

“No,” Maggie answered. She knew he was only asking for reassurance and confirmation; any one of them could go at any moment, so the thought of her getting bit wasn’t so far fetched.

Hershel slipped the gloves on each hand. “Her water hasn’t broken yet, but her contractions are getting closer. I’m thinking it may have broken in her sleep before they started this morning,” he reported to Beth. “Go get some hot water from the kitchen,” he instructed as the few women who were inside sat in silence in the sitting section of the block. Maggie cleaned herself with her shirt before grabbing another one to pull over her head from the stock pile brought from the other day’s run.

“Aaaahh!!” yelled Rose as another contraction squeezed inside of her a few minutes later. Her voice was strained as she tried to keep the sound from reaching outside, unsure if the walls were thin enough for those in the yard to hear. “Get my husband!” she breathlessly ordered as anger soon glimmered in her eyes; now was the time that he should be here and that fact that he had not come in sooner bothered her to no end in that moment.

One of the other women went to fetch him, glad to be out of ear shot of Rose’s torture for the moment. A few minutes later the woman came back with Rose’s husband. “Thanks Mary,” he quickly said before skidding to his wife’s side. Mary slipped away from the scene to enjoy the warmth of the setting sun as another yell, this one louder than before, ripped from Rose’s lips. As the door shut, the scream disappeared and Mary felt relief at that find.

Glenn, Daryl, Rick, and Carol had started a couple of small fires, building rock walls around them to reduce the already risky behavior from attracting Walkers to the prison. “How she doing?” Carol asked as she saw Mary come closer; the two women had chatted a couple of times as they sorted through clothes or had worked on repairing blankets.

Mary sighed, running a hand through her shoulder-length blonde hair, her hazel eyes widening as she mulled over the question. “She’s trying to hold on without getting too much screaming done. They’re just a few minutes apart now so she’ll hopefully give birth before midnight,” was her analysis as she looked over at the fire the group of kids sat at, seeing that Rick’s boy— Carl— had joined the Woodbury kids, but sat alone with his baby sister close to his chest as he fed her her bottle. Carol looked over as well; at least he was trying to be around them more since they had talked.

“Beth and Maggie had to go to the medical wing and I guess they ran into a Walker; Maggie came back with blood all over her face and arm,” Mary reported after a short pause. Rick and Daryl looked at each other somberly. They both knew that they had to get the wall done, without a doubt, sure that the Walker had come in through a breach. Glenn, however, had tensed a little. Maggie hadn’t been caught off guard by a Walker since the two of them had made the run into town back when they were at Hershel’s farm. Though he knew that killing Walkers were messy, thoughts of what distracted her kept fading to the forefront of his mind— ranging from her and her sister talking to the idea that Maggie had been focused on something huge, like being pregnant. The thought shook Glenn as he ran his eyes over the group and looked at the kids huddled by their respective fire. Could he have it in him to be a dad? They hadn’t been using protection all of the time and it was certainly used less and less the longer they stayed at the prison. The night was cooling much faster now, winter months approaching as autumn began to fade away. A half an hour after Mary had joined them, a blood curdling scream came from within the walls. Instinctively, Carol ran in to help.

The moment Carol stepped in, she flew into action. “Go outside with a couple of the blankets— bring some for the kids and a couple coats,” she told the few who had stayed behind to sort laundry or sew. “Come back in half an hour if you don’t hear another scream and we’ll give you canned food to heat over the fire.” The women hurried to follow orders, most of the blankets leaving with them as Rose’s pain-filled moans were pushed to the background. Beth was just coming down the stairs to refill the hot water bucket, when Carol cleared the area of everyone else.

“Where’d they all go?” the young woman asked noticing that everyone had left, the bucket ducking under the faucet to catch the water spilling out.

“I told them to get out; they don’t need to be hearing this. How bad is she?”

Carol helped bring the water bucket up to the room and saw that Rosewas now on the floor of the cell, a blanket yet to be taken apart laying beneath her for comfort and protection against the cold cement. Next to her was her husband Alex, his hands wrapped around hers as he told her to breath, his knees dirtied as he sat on them. On Rose’s right sat Hershel, his hands busy with pulling apart the pain killers his daughters had found earlier. “She crowning,” Maggie informed, her glove-covered hand coming from between Rose’s open legs.

“Can you feel in their and see if the cord is wrapped around the neck?” Hershel asked as he mixed the powder into water with a plastic spoon. A butterfly needle was connected to the bag the mixture was collected in, a handful of broken pill caps laying at his feet. As Maggie tried to feel the baby’s neck, her father busied himself with finding Rose’s vein having given the mixture to Beth to hold.

Hershel found her vein and injected the needle into her skin with ease. The pain reliever started to flow into her blood, as Maggie continued to feel around inside to the woman, trying to get to the baby’s neck. “I can’t feel anything,” she said with defeat, worried to death that they might lose the baby.

“Just cut me open! The medicine will kick in soon enough!” Rose yelled as her tense body shook with another contraction. Her husband grit his teeth against the pain of her squeeze.

Knowing that there might be a lot of blood loss if he waited any longer, giving the pain killer to thin her blood, Hershel pulled a pair of gloves on and fished around the baby’s head to feel the neck. To his disappointment, he felt the curve of the umbilical cord and frowned. “Carol, go get the stitching string,” he calmly instructed. Carol nodded and went to  retrieve the needle and thread, sanitizing the needle with a lighter.

Mr. Greene took out a fresh knife whose metal had never met the body of a Walker and lifted Rose's dress to the bottom of her breasts. Sweat matted down her hair and clung the fabric to her sun-kissed skin, the cloth soaked through after a long day of sweating. Without warning, Hershel made a single incision, the blade cutting through her flesh and muscle with ease.

Her scream was so loud that her voice choked into nothing mid-outcry, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she laid completely on her back. Alex moved behind her, propping her head on his knees with her hand still in his. His hands cupped both sides of her face, his face within an inch of his wife’s as he tried not to look at the opened core of his love. “You’re gonna be okay, Rose,” he calmed her, “you’re gonna make it through— both of you are. You stay strong, I’m right here with you!” Rose cried as she felt Hershel’s hands digging within her, her mind torn at the thought of losing her baby and joy at still being able to feel— knowing that she was still alive.

The two pecked their lips together, the mixture of salty tears and sweat stinging their lips before Rose grimaced once more. She could feel the drugs kicking in now, but it was too late— she could feel the pain, every minute movement he made as he unwrapped the cord from the baby’s neck, his cradling the baby as he moved to pull it out of her womb; she shivered with discomfort as she felt the head pulled back through the cervix from the canal, a heaving cough of pain rasping from her throat.

As she felt the doctor pull the baby out of her, she cried harder, the absent of sound striking her deep within her heart. Her body shook with her sobs, tears falling from her eyes like rivers. “NOOO!” she screamed, the cry echoing in the block and into the yard, stilling the community. Everyone was tense as they heard the distinctive scream of denial, their hearts slouching with sympathy. Those who knew them in Woodbury seemed to take the loss personally, some of the women who were close to the couple clutching at their hearts through the blankets and pulling their children closer to kiss them upon their heads as the embers began to die out.

Rose chanted the word as she let her body fall against the ground lifelessly. Her husband cried with her, burying his face into the crook of her neck, feeling the heartache with her. “Needle,” they heard Hershel request from Carol. They didn’t look up when he informed them that Rose had to be still for him to stitch her up properly. Rose tried to still herself, but continued to heavily cry in her husband’s lap, her heart ripping in two as she felt the cool metal bringing her torso together again. If she had been able to get the words out, she would have told him not to bother stitching her closed, encouraging him to let her die from blood loss.

With deliberate rhythm, Hershel stitched the woman up and pulled a velcro strap around her mid-section to restore the strength and keep her stitches coming undone from her heaving. He looked down the stairs and saw Carol washing the baby, trying to make it breath by pressing on the baby girl’s chest with the tip of her middle and index fingers— something he was proud to have taught her as he began to hear the faint cries of the child within minutes. A smile broke upon his grief-stricken face and he turned to them.

“Shhh, shh,” he begged as he gently rubbed her shoulder. “Shh; listen to your baby girl.” Rose gulped at the air, staring in disbelief as she heard the undeniable cries of a baby— her baby— echoing in the block.

The couple laughed, sobbing tears of happiness as they realized their child had made it. They kissed each other harshly as they held onto each other. “Let me see her,” Rose cried with joy. “Let me see my baby.”

“One moment,” Hershel told them warmly. “Carol is washing her up right now, as we speak.” Maggie had disappeared to get a pillow, returning with a few of them so Rose could lay comfortably and they wouldn’t have to move her until morning. Soon after Maggie’s return, Carol came in with the baby cradled in her arms. Silent tears started falling down Rose’s face as Alex leaned against the wall, sobbing into his hands, only peering around to see his baby girl in her mommy’s arms.

“Oh, my baby; my beautiful baby,” Rose cooed through her tears, gently bouncing the child without hurting her new stitches. The pain killer was now working, numbing the incision and her entire core. She kissed the baby girl’s forehead and crown gently, her protective hands keeping her daughter close to her body.

“Congratulations,” Carol and Hershel chimed, leaving the couple alone for a few minutes, taking the bucket of afterbirth with them to throw on the side lawn.

Outside the prison, everyone was silent, sitting in the sadness of another loss— the loss of a baby. Rick’s fingers were twisted in his hair as he thought of Judy, the thought of losing her or Carl scaring him to the bone. The crisp autumn air sent a shiver through the group with the passing wind and they all felt torn between going inside and sitting in the cold. Daryl looked out at the trees before him, his back to the prison; he was sure he would see Walkers coming soon, the screams attracting them like bears to honey. The fact that none of them had come yet worried him, his mind anticipating an ever worse attack in the morning— or worse, while everyone was asleep. His gaze landed on Judy, his Little Asskicker and frowned at the thought of losing her; the world was shit enough without having to lose her or any other baby, he thought. He had meant it the day that she was born that he wasn’t able to stand losing her to this world as well. And now that Merle had been consumed by it, he knew that that little girl was his last chance at humanity. “I’ll go check and see if we can come in,” Daryl whispered to the others, his voice broken like so many of theirs, the fear freezing them in the moment they heard her scream in anguish.

He made his way up to the prison and ran into Carol as she walked out of the entrance with a bucket in hand. “Jesus, woman, it may be dead but at least give the kid a proper burial!” he said with outrage, his voice stricken with disgust as he stared with disbelief that someone who had lost her own child could do such a thing to a still-born.

Carol’s brows furrowed in confusion; what was Daryl talking about? “What do you mean?” she asked, not thinking that they had heard Rose yell in protest.

“We all heard it, Carol,” he hissed at her, his face coming within an inch of hers, their noses almost touching as his anger-filled eyes looked into her lost, blues orbs. “We know the baby’s dead, for fuck’s sake, we ain’t deaf!”

All of a sudden, it clicked. They had heard Rose cry out when she heard the silence. Her hand grasped Daryl’s shoulder and squeezed, her smile sickening him as he pulled away. “The baby survived, Daryl,” she told him as her eyes lit with a joy he hadn’t seen for the longest he could remember.

“What?” His voice came out meekly as he looked at her smiling from ear-to-ear.

“The baby survived! It’s a lovely baby girl,” Carol sighed as she felt close to tears knowing that she had helped. The baby survived and she had helped.

“B-but—,” he stammered at her as his blood began to flow once more.

“At first the baby wouldn’t make a sound and she knew that; she heard the silence and thought she lost the baby,” Carol explained. Daryl looked down at the bucket and scowled at the unpleasant sight, wishing he hadn’t looked.

“God! That’s disgustin’, woman! Why you caryin’ that around?”

“I need to get rid of it,” she laughed at seeing Daryl disgusted by something as natural as a placenta.

“Well, you throw it out there, and Geek’s’ll be swarmin’ the place,” he warned, his mouth still in a grimace. Carol nodded, realizing he was right. But where were they going to get rid of it?

Daryl ran a hand over his scalp and looked back at the group and then at the graves where Lori, T-Dog, and Axel had been buried. “Bury it,” he suggested flatly as another chilling breeze swept over the grounds. “Does this mean we get to come in?” he asked with his hand covering the back of his neck. Carol nodded and let him go to the others to round them up inside. All of them piled into the tombs somberly, heads hanging low as they marched through the doors.

Rose’s closest friends rushed up to her and her husband’s cell, surprised to see her holding a living baby girl in Rose’s arms. They could see the glow of happiness shining on her tear-stained face as Alex mirrored the excitement behind her. “Say hi to baby Hope,” Roseintroduced them to her daughter as tears welled in Rose’s eyes again, the words sweetly falling from her lips. Within minutes, the news spread and everyone took turns holding the sleeping baby as they congratulated the couple at their addition.


	7. Bearings

At the crack of dawn, Glenn and Daryl stood at watch in the tower, picking off Walkers one by one; both were thankful they had found silencers during their first winter. Much to Daryl's displeasure, he helped Carol bury the after birth before coming to Glenn's side, his face grimacing as he saw a flash of the gelatin-like mess before Carol covered it with dirt.

Fewer Walkers came as the night grew into itself and the men were glad that Rose's screams had attracted those that seemed closest to the prison. At least they wouldn't have to be worried about a hoard of them trying to break in when people were still talking about leaving for Woodbury, especially after the baby was born.The two stood against the corners of the railings looking out onto the land as the sun began to rise, each of them lost in thought about Judy.

Glenn turned towards Daryl. "Maggie said that she had another kid-- she had a C-section before-- what do you think happened to that one?" he asked. Daryl looked at him quizzically.

"I don't wanna hear 'bout Maggie's past."

The Korean's eyes widened. "No, no-- Rose, or whatever her name is. Maggie heard her tell Hershel that she had a kid before-- I mean, that's the only reason she would have had a C-section right? Because she had another kid?"

Daryl shrugged, not sure where his comrade was going with this empty-ended conversation. "What's your point?" he asked, unable to hide his disconnect to the subject.

"Well, where's the kid, do you think?"

Though the question was purely speculative, Daryl felt uncomfortable. He felt like they were infringing on territory that they shouldn't trespass upon; if the woman wanted everyone to know about her sob story, then she would be off talking about it. "Rick used to have a wife, too, doesn't mean we exactly talk about it," was all he pointed out before taking aim and shooting a Walker between the brows, the body falling to the ground with a soft thud. The other corpses that had been put down earlier were now being turned into meals by the living dead.

Glenn nodded and kept his mouth shut, watching the sun rise above the horizon, lighting the tree tops. The air was calm and he was glad that winter hadn't come yet; more importantly, he was happy that they at least had a prison for the season. Knowing that Rick was bed-ridden for the next few weeks bothered Glenn, the thought resting uncomfortably at the back of his mind with a heavy weight. Everyone knew that things still needed to be taken care of-- particularly the wall-- and without Rick, he wasn't sure how the group was going to fare. Of course they could get by without him, but with so many people from Woodbury thinking about going back to their past refuge, who would be the one to talk the group into sense?

"We gotta figure out how to build that wall up," Glenn commented as their shift neared its end, Carl and Mr. Bates walking down the pathway to take watch.

Daryl agreed. "Better do it fast, though," he said gruffly, his body awkwardly aiming at another Walker, wishing that he could use his crossbow.

Glenn nodded, "Yeah, especially since we have two babies now. Wouldn't want anything to happen to them."

"I'm more worried 'bout the weather, honestly," Dixon said as he put the safety back on his gun after putting another corpse down. "It gets too cold and the mortar won't set right."

"Oh," the younger man simply said. "Hadn't thought of that."

With a smirk, Daryl looked over at him, gesturing towards the ladder. "That supposed to be a surprise?" Glenn chuckled at the jab and the two made their way down the ladder to meet Mr. Bates and the teen.

"Hey, c'mere," Daryl jerked his head as he spoke to Carl. The teen came over with squinted eyes, unsure of what the older man wanted from him. With guards up, Carl tilted the brim of his hat away from his face to show his stone facade. "You know we got a wall to build up and your dad ain't in no shape to do anything," Daryl began, his brows furrowed against the sun now looming in the sky. Carl slowly nodded, still hesitant about what the conversation was really about. "You had a pretty decent idea 'bout Woodbury. Was wondering if you got any more of 'em you wanted to talk about?"

The turn surprised Carl, but he didn't show it other than his eyes losing their edge. He looked towards the prison with a sigh and thought in silence, the slurping sound of a bar going through the decaying flesh of a Walker not far from the two. "We don't really have anything to build it up do we?" he asked as a last resort, still unsure of what to do.

The Hell's Angel shook his head sadly. He had spent a day looking for anything to build with and had come up empty-handed, something he had hoped against. "Well," Carl shrugged. "Do we really need to? It's not like there's any real way for a Walker to get in."

"No, but it won't hurt to be blocked from all sides," Daryl quipped, understanding where Carl was coming from. "Better safe than sorry in any case. Plus, with the extra people we may be able to put a couple families in any warden rooms if we find some. Bound to be a few offices where the superiors stayed."

Carl looked up at him and asked, "Wardens lived in the prisons?"

Daryl looked at the boy next to him with amusement. "You mean your old man ain't never told you how prisons work? And he was a cop?" The corners of his lips tugged upwards as Carl laughed shyly, unsure of what was funny. As his laughter lightened Daryl's features, his tone trodded gently on serious discussion. "You and Greg keep watch for now. When there're less of 'em Geeks comin' 'round we'll start burning bodies," Daryl's fingers twitched towards the heaps of corpses along the fence and at the edge of the wood. Carl nodded and stood next to Greg at the gate as Glenn and Daryl walked up the path to the prison, both thinking of how to build the wall up.

Inside the tombs, Judy and Hope sat playing, the newborn sleeping in her father's lap as Carol and Deb sat at one of the tables with their sewing lesson. The women would glance at the babies and smiled warmly at the scene before them, tiny smiles reaching their eyes as Judy rolled an empty can of formula against the new father's foot. Carol loved seeing the children; it was as if humanity actually had a fighting chance against the mess the world had become. And seeing Rose cradling her baby the night before made Carol recall the day Sophia was born, how she fell in love with her baby girl and knew she would never love anyone as deeply as she did her daughter. "When I had Sophia-- I'll never forget-- took her the whole day to say hello to everyone," Carol laughed light-heartedly as she reminisced, her fingers stopping to listen. She turned to the woman beside her and asked innocently, "Did you two ever have kids?"

Mrs. Bates shook her head as she let her fingers rest. She certainly wasn't the best sewer and she could feel the tips screaming at her for putting them through the pain of such an act. Somberly, she shook her head. "Nope," she answered verbally, "we never had kids."

"You ever want to?" Carol gave an inward sigh of relief that she didn't bring up any grudging memories like she experienced when losing Sophia.

The question was met by a shrug, Deb's eyes now watching Hope yawn in her father's lap."Never really gave much thought to it really," she said nonchalantly as her gaze dropped to her handwork. Carol could feel more to the story, but chose not to bring it up; she didn't want to drudge up any old memories that the woman had been trying to put behind her. Trying to change the subject, Deb hurriedly asked where Sophia was. She immediately regretted it when she saw Carol's face fall.

"We, uh," the widow tried to begin, her guilt and pain choking against her voice, "she got lost after a herd came through. We looked for her for weeks, but...." as Carol trailed off, Deb nodded. The married woman reached out and squeezed her companions hand, pushing the work out of the way and ignoring the sting in her finger tips.

"I'm sure she didn't suffer," Deb consoled, the only thing she could think of to say. Carol threw her head back to look at the ceiling with distaste. She and the rest had seen Jim turn and she knew it was Hell-- the fever, the pains, the vomit as the insides began to shut down-- and she knew her daughter-- her sweet, little Sophia-- had gone through that transformation, and knowing that confirmed that her baby girl did suffer; Carol only hoped that it hadn't been for long.

Carol looked back down at the table with tears blinking into her eyes, blurring her vision. She squeezed Mrs. Bates hand before letting go to rid herself of the evidence. Now was not the time to be crying over her daughter. At least, not in the middle of the day where she could cause a scene.

"Sorry," Debby whispered morosely. She honestly felt bad for Carol-- she had her own share of loss, but she couldn't even begin to contemplate the pain of losing a child. 'Well,' she thought to herself, 'at least she took it better than he did,' thinking of the Governor holing his daughter up in his room after she had turned. The very thought of it sent shivers down her spine.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked of Carol finally, her curiosity taking the better of her. She knew that she wasn't the only one wondering about the Grimes family, but she knew she wasn't just going to not try to find out. "What happened to Rick's wife? I mean, I know it's recent, but it just seems really odd. A pregnant woman really lasted out their this entire time?"

The question caught Carol off guard. Lori being a mysterious ghost to the newcomers hadn't exactly crossed her mind-- to be frank, she hadn't thought that they were the least bit concerned about their former members-- their fallen family. The mother felt out of place telling a piece of history that wasn't hers, but she felt as if it couldn't do any harm. "The alarms were tripped by someone-- someone we thought had died-- and a hoard of Walkers came through the group Lori was in. While she, Carl, and Maggie," as Carol said her name, she shot a glance at the young woman who sat talking to her father in the corner of the room. She could tell the two were talking about Rose and about the kids as they looked at the babies every few moments. "While they were hiding," Carol continued as she shifted her gaze back to her friend, "Lori went into labor. Maggie had to perform a C-section-- something her father had been teaching me to do-- and Lori probably would have died from blood loss from it."

"Would have?" The phrase seemed odd to Deb; the turn scared her as she thought of Carl watching his own mother being cut open and his baby sister being scooped out of the body.

Carol nodded. "I guess she was unconscious at one point, or was on the way to being unconscious. Any way, we know that she would have turned into one of them after that; long story short, Carl shot her in the head to stop her from coming back as a monster."

"Jesus Christ," Bates exclaimed in a whisper. "No wonder the kid's a bit bent."

"What do you mean?"

Deb looked at the question with raised brows. "Do you seriously have to ask? We all saw Carl get all ticked off that we were brought here. We heard that he shot a kid a little older than he was. You can't think he's that well put together."

The words offended Carol-- sure they were all true, but did it really make Carl such a bad person? "I can actually," she bit with a nagging hesitation in the pit of her stomach. "He is doing as best as any of us in a world like this. He holds his own and he knows how to take care of himself. I know damn well it isn't ideal for a 13-year-old to be like that under normal circumstances, but look around-- there's a new normal and it very well isn't leaving any time soon."

A thick silence blanketed the two, their stares too strong for the other and instead pointed them towards Judy, watching her wiggle on her back on top of the blanket that Alex had laid down earlier. The soft giggles and coos were faintly echoing off the walls of the tombs, filling the block with an eerie serenity of unusual joy. Carol wondered how Rick was feeling being stuck in a bed all day, even if he did get to listen to his daughter playing. Her thoughts were cut off when Deb asked, "What if we have to leave? We're gonna have enough trouble finding a place for all of us, let alone some place suitable for them." It was no question that the long-haired woman was referring to the babies. It was natural that she worry about it-- it wasn't as if it hadn't caused anyone else to feel a little panicked at the thought. Carol had heard a few of the people from Woodbury talking about the newborns' safety and how they would be more protected at the old safe haven.

Carol shrugged, unable to find the right words. "It'll be difficult, but everything is difficult now. Doing the best we can do is the best we can do until the absolute worst happens," she finally atoned with another shrug of her shoulders. There wasn't anything else they could do and Carol very well knew that; at the end of the day, choices would be made, regardless of them being the most appealing, and the group would have to deal with it. She could only hope that those choices would never entail sacrificing the babies for the safety of the group.

The black haired woman nodded, her wedding ring disappearing in her locks as she ran a hand against the nape of her neck. She understood where Carol was coming from: people could only make the best choices they could and hope they didn't regret it; it was true of the old world and it was especially true of the one that they lived in now.

"Carol," Hershel's worn voice spoke, the old man leaning against his crutch in front of their table. He continued when the widow gave him her attention. "Would you mind helping Maggie and myself lift Rose? Hope is going to have to eat soon and she shouldn't be on the ground for much longer. And I'll need someone to help check up on Rick after Maggie and the boys go off to take a look at the wall." The smile on his face was small, but warm as he tried to persuade her to join him.

She gave a small chuckle as she nodded. "Of course," she accepted, pushing the fabric. She moved to get up and told Deb that she would be back soon. Deb nodded and went back to work on her own project-- the blankets all had to be mended before the winter really started to settle in.

The two made their way up the stairs with Maggie following behind them just a few steps back, Carol helping the man up the stairs as his crutch made the task difficult. "Alright, Rose, time to get on the cot," Hershel announced when he got to cell door and saw that the woman was wide awake. Rose groaned at the news, her body sore from the shock of her Cesarian. "Don't worry," he assured her, "we won't do it until after I check the stitches and make sure they're clean."

Beth appeared with a pail of water as her father stooped down beside his patient. Cautiously, he lifted the clothes to her chest again, her torso once more exposed to the chilling air of the tombs. A visible shiver shook Rose's body as the air hit her flesh, rushing over her senses. With the water set next to him, Hershel dipped his hands into the liquid and rubbed them together before wiping the excess against his breast pocket and treating the stitches tenderly, running the pads of his fingers against the thread before softly pushing into the surround flesh. "Sorry," he apologized gruffly as he saw her wince in pain, her chestnut hair covering her face as she turned her head away from him. "We have to make sure there isn't any infection; can't be too sure nowadays."

Rose waved his apology away. She knew he had to look at her and she knew that her body would be sore after the surgery. "Don't worry about it," she attested, gulping down the initial pain, "it's nothing new. Just tender still. I understand." It was then she truly missed the old society and its hospitals. Sure, she had never liked them, but it was a hell of a lot better being there than being in a prison playing medical care. And though she hated the diaper and wrap St. Jude's had made her wear after her first C--section, she could now see why they forced her into such unappealing garb; it didn't help a lot with the pain, but a little help was still help when the issue was pain.

Hershel nodded as he continued to check the area, his hands decisively more gentle with a heavy awareness for her pain. "How is she doing?" Rose asked about her daughter.

"She's sleeping right now," chimed in Carol from the door way, wanting to stay out of Hershel's way and wanting to keep any wandering eyes from encroaching on the new mother's privacy. Rose smiled at the thought of seeing her baby girl sleep with her tiny chest and stomach rising with each breath. "She's in your husband's lap-- has been for a little bit. He's watching her and Judy down on the first floor."

The smile stayed plastered to Rose's face as she thought of her family being together downstairs with Hope's friend. It was a moment of bliss knowing that things felt so normal for her baby for the time being. "Have you tried moving?" Hershel asked as he studied the stitches.

"Not really," Rose confessed, turning her head to face him. "The most I've done is raise my arms a bit." She showed him by lifting her arm and moving it to her chest before letting it fall beside her once more. Hershel nodded and turned to his eldest daughter, Beth now moving the pail from her father's side.

"Could you go get Glenn or Daryl? I don't want these stitches coming undone and we'll need help making sure she's handled properly," he requested of her somberly. Maggie nodded and went to fetch them knowing that they were in the courtyard, probably talking about their plan of attack against the demolished wall.

"They aren't that bad," Rose tried to say, "I'm not that fragile." She didn't want to be moved and she didn't want to make people take time out of their lives just to shift her from the floor-- something she should be able to do by herself. Thinking about how she couldn't even do something as trivial as get off the ground angered her; she felt ashamed and lazy despite the reason that she wasn't able to make the journey.

"Don't worry about it," he calmed her. "We have to take extra care of you for a few days so you can take care of your baby girl," he reasoned, smiling at the grin Rose gave him at the sound of 'your baby girl.' It was that sentiment that she accepted that she needed help moving.

After Daryl showed up with his bow still slung around his back, he helped Carol and Maggie lift Rose into the cot nearby, his hands sure to stay under the woman's back as he was afraid of hurting her himself. When the move was done, Hershel checked the stitches once more, quickly making sure that none had come out. Seeing they were intact, he gave the okay for the others to tend to the wall. Before he and Carol went to check on Rick, he assured his patient that after she got rest, she would get to see her child again. Rose grinned at his words again as she watched him and Carol leave.

"Hello, hello," Carol called as she saw Rick laying in his cot.

"Hey," Rick answered lack luster happiness, his body still worn from being moved in and out of the prison last night without the help of a crutch. The bags under his eyes showed his tiredness as well as his the restlessness setting into his bones. Rick Grimes was not the kind of man to just sit around and do nothing, especially when there were people relying on him.

"How's the leg feeling?" Hershel asked, motioning for him to prop the leg towards him. Rick abided and Hershel went to work, checking on the ankle. He pressed his fingers into the ankle softly, the inflamed flesh changing color at the intrusion.

"Could be better," Rick frowned at the touch, the grimace not surprising the old doctor.

"See this?" he mentioned to Carol, showing her the discoloration and where the inflammation stemmed from. "This is from the lymph fluids fighting to help the bone repair itself. This is how we'll time the recovery." She nodded with undivided attention. "Now, how long do you think he's gonna be out for?"

Carol felt lost, but looked at the injury. "I-I don't know," she stumbled. "Maybe three weeks?" she guessed. Hershel nodded, encouraging her to go on. "Well, it might be that long until the swelling starts going down. Once that goes down, it should only be a couple weeks before he's back to normal."

Hershel nodded again with a proud smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Very good. So all-in-all, around a month for it all to heal completely. Maybe shorter if you don't move as much as you did last night; the less stress you have will help catalyze the process as well," he said, his words now directed at Rick who groaned at the confirmation. "Don't worry," Hershel chanted again, "we'll be fine with you taking a little rest. It's well deserved."

"Where's Carl at?" Rick asked hopelessly, accepting that he couldn't move.

"He's at the fence with Greg; they're on watch for a little longer." Rick nodded as he realized his last chance at sanity wasn't going to show. Hershel re-wrapped the ankle and got up with the help of Carol. "We won't have to check on your leg for another few days, until then, just relax. We'll bring food up in a little bit; it's just about time for us to start lunch." The patient nodded glumly and watched as the two left, his eyes staring at the bottom of the cot above him as he laid back, trying to relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5/21/13, Chapter 8 saved as draft 50% completed


	8. Hole and Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finally takes time to assess the full damage to the administrative wing and attempt to find a way to secure the area.

Walkers roamed around the administrative wing, spotting the hallways and hovering around the broken fence. They were wasting away, swimming in the remains of their clothes and sporting what was left of their decaying skin, open wounds and missing limbs accompanied faces marred by ripped cheeks. Each one fell with a hole through the head, knife and arrow wounds distinctive between every set of eyes. Blood splattered against the ground, pooling around the bodies as Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and Carl moved from between the walls to the open air.

The Geeks near the fence caught the group’s scent and focused on them, taking wobbled steps forward as their stiff, frail legs tried to work harder. Blood-matted hair and dirt-covered nails reached towards the living, their clouded eyes staring hungrily at those who called the prison home. Carl shot the few advancing towards him as Maggie sunk her knife once more into another skull, the eye leaking around the blade and over the rotting cheek. Meanwhile, Daryl worked a bolt into the Walkers coming at him, Glenn using his own knife to plow through the two hurling themselves at him. Grunts and groans died off as the four panted, not taking a rest before sweeping their gaze over the premises once more, making sure that there weren’t any more of the monsters coming around the corner. Seeing the brick lay around the molded carpet and cracked concrete reminded Carl of the over-run elderly home the group visited the year before— or was it over a year now?; maybe it was two? Time seemed strange to the young man in that moment, as if there was a time in this mess where his mother wasn’t pregnant or dead. He shook his head and went closer to the fallen wall, his gun still cocked in hand with safety off. The floor above them was gone and the wall was  crumbling around them in weeds, but it seemed that the brick held its own, standing harsh against the nature that had seeped into the ruin of society. “Looks like the brick isn’t too bad,” he called back, his mind more focused on surveying the grounds for more Walkers.

 

 

Daryl took place at Carl’s side, Maggie and Glenn soon following suit. “Some of it ain’t bad,” Daryl atoned, bending at the knees to make closer inspection. The mortar was completely gone, what was left of it creating a thin layer of dust in the room. The remnant of a desk and computer parts were off in the corner, the other corner decorated with broken glass in splintered picture frames, and a metal filing cabinet tilted sideways. “It ain’t all good, neither.”

Glenn followed around the wall, his knife raised and ready for any sneak attacks. Seeing nothing coming for him, he dropped his knife and looked around at the rubble, his knife slipping into the belt loop sheath he had found back in Atlanta, common sense yelling at him to wear it just a few days ago. “There’s a lot of big pieces. Don’t know if they’re all useful,” he called, bending at his waist to pick of a piece untouched by spider web or visible bugs. In the wake of the brick shard, a deep gash in the earth stayed behind, bugs crawling in the crease of dirt wildly at their sudden exposure.

“Maybe we could find a way to put some of them back together?” Maggie suggested half-heartedly as her back rested against the opening left by the blown away wall, keeping watch as the men examined the scene. “I wonder what happened,” she thought aloud, her attention caught by the exposed levels above them. An image of a Walker falling over the edge and falling into the office flashed into Maggie’s mind and she snorted, earning looks from her companions. “Sorry,” she apologized with a smirk still playing on her face.

Under Daryl’s breath, a distinctive, “damn woman,” could be heard with his usual distaste of confusion and judgment. Maggie ignored him, though Glenn shot the hunter a nasty glare of protection; Carl was busy looking at the wreckage near the opening of the office and hallway, gun holstered at his hip. The youth went to the filing cabinet and began rifling through the paper that had managed to stay safe, unperturbed by wind or the havoc that had affected the wall. “What’r you lookin’ for?” Daryl asked as he heard the scrape of metal and shuffling paper.

“Layout plans. Maybe we’ll find a storage room with repair stuff in it,” Carl answered matter-of-factly without looking up, his head tilting to the side as he studied a piece of a paper stuffed in a manila folder.

Daryl’s brows raised, impressed by Carl’s thinking. This kid was proving that he could pull his weight and more every day it seemed. All he could muster to say was, “Nice idea, kid.”

Carl ignored being called a kid and continued to shuffle through the papers, stopping every now and then thinking he had something worth while before realizing it was licenses and old work records. He finished the last few folders and moved on to the other drawers only to find fewer documents than before. “Maybe the other offices have them?” the young man suggested to the others, Daryl being the only one listening as Glenn and Maggie preoccupied themselves with looking for the biggest pieces of brick in the rubble of wall and splintered desk boards.

"You two mind gatherin' some bricks while we check out the other levels?" Daryl asked of the couple, his voice more commanding than questioning. The two agreed, and Daryl and Carl set off towards the spiral stairwell. Carl took the back, watching for any Walkers coming from behind as Daryl aimed ahead of them with his bow, the two painfully aware of their feet clanking against the steps as the curved wall reminded them every moment.

"I'm going to the third floor," Carl stated once they reached the second level.

Daryl nodded in confirmation and gave him a stern look. "You be careful, you here? Ain't got time for your dad chewin' me out 'cause you didn't check for Geeks," he warned seriously. Carl nodded in understanding and continued his way up the stairs, his back against the wall to cover all angles despite his awkward footing. When he got to the door, he flung the protection open and held his gun up, his grip squeezing on the handle as he looked around the hallway. The walls were spotted with yellow and brown stains caused undoubtably by the weather, black streaks marring the floor here and there where a giant hole was blown out from the office's entrance. Not only was the door and its frame gone, but an entire chunk of the wall was gone, almost reaching from floor to ceiling as bits of exposed drywall fell down.

He did a quick sweep of the room before dropping the weapon to his side; just because there weren't any Walkers around didn't mean that he wouldn't have to fight them later, a fact that he knew all to well. Mold crawled up the corner, hugging against what was left of what used to be a filing cabinet, a single drawer the only thing left in the bearings and a sheaf of papers peaking out from between the openings around the drawer. Bending down, he pulled the files out and began searching, hoping that any plans he found were actually laminated. Catching the flicker of reflection, Carl's hopes were answered, scourging through the crumbling and worn papers to find a map of the prison glassed with protection and a compass in the lower left and hand corner, just near his thumb. Looking closer, he noticed that it was not marked for each room, but sectioned off for where the inmates were held based on their crimes, the colors mixing in certain blocks whereas others were purely encompassed with a single color. Definitely wasn't exactly what they were looking for, but it sure did help; at least they now had an idea of where everything was. And as Daryl had mentioned, his father was a cop and would probably know a little bit of how storage and set up worked in prisons.

With that, Carl rolled the paper and stuffed it into his back pocket before looking around the ruins. On the other side of the destroyed office, he could see the shards of broken wood piled on top of books whose pages were stained beyond belief-- books that didn't matter anymore because they were no longer owned and were no longer interesting; books didn't hold any lessons in the new world, only entertainment, and there wasn't that much time for that kind of fun anymore. The stench of mildewed carpet mixed with the odor of drywall and the crispness of the cooling air. In front of the remains of the fallen bookshelf laid a piece of curved ceramic covering the evidence of spilled soil, the plant it once housed utterly missing without a trace thanks to the wind since the prison's destruction. It seemed like the office remnants were the final death of the civilization he had been born into-- the order, education, domestication of nature, the placement. Now, all that was left was the lowest form of nature growing in the corner as knowledge lay forgotten under a pile of rubbish. Carl looked out over the tree tops, staring at the minute shivers of the leaves dancing in the excitement of a breeze, a few birds gliding through the air before diving into the foliage.

The office having nothing else to rummage through, Carl left and worked down the empty hall hoping to find any type of room that could be used by a family or something that could be turned into Judy and Hope's new nursery. More water stains met his eyes as he moved along, the only light coming from the gaping hole making it harder to see as he went further away from the stairwell. His gun was raised once more, poised for use as Carl scanned the hallway. Something about it made him hesitate-- there were no splatters of brain mass, no pools of dried blood, no decaying limbs, or even shards of glass laying about; it was almost as if the place hadn't claimed anyone's old souls. That was what made the hall so eerie-- it had escaped the epidemic without a trace left behind it; it was scar-free of the world surrounding the walls. A part of the young man wondered if this was the last place on Earth where innocence lived outside of a person.

Leaning in closer to the first door, Carl stopped and listened for any movement. The glass of the window was covered in dirt, a curtain pulled down inside the room so no one could look inside without opening the door. As hard as he listened, his ears were met with silence, a displeased frown gracing his face as he tried to strain his ears for any sound at all. He still couldn't hear anything. With a small sigh of frustration, Carl adjusted the grip on his gun and stretched towards the handle, pushing the entry open with gun raised. His gaze swept around the room, moving from corner to corner, then checking the rest of the room hidden by the door. Seeing no movement, no odd silhouettes, Carl let his aim move to the ground as he studied the room more carefully. A chair sat in one of the corners near a small window covered in splotches of dried rain, dirt and leaves collecting around the pane in clumps. Across from the chair-- more of a cushioned recliner-- sat a bed, probably a full or a queen, in dust-covered quilt of white, the sheets peaking out from beneath to sport their powder blue hue. Behind the door sat a clothes cupboard along the wall, the bottom half extending into a dresser, the dark ash matching the headrest of the bed. Next to the bed was another door, the wood matching the oak entryway that Carl still stood next to. He peered back into the hallway for good measure before looking back into the room, seeing the hall was as empty as before. Making his way to the other door, Carl tried to stay light on his feet, footing the way gently as he could.

Twisting the tarnished door knob, Carl swung his weapon in front of him and saw nothing but an untouched bathroom, the only sign of disturbance being the broken shards of mirror pooling in the sink, the wall it had once been attached to being shared with the office that had once been at the end of the hall. The shower curtain around the clawed tub was old and white, faded from the little window in the wall that faced the forest, the toilet squeezed between the sink's vanity and the lip of the tub. Certainly not fancy, but nothing that couldn't get the job done. The walls were tiled with crisp, white squares that barely shined against the hexagon accents of green that were placed on the floor.

Carl once again checked behind him and leaned forward to touch the tap of the sink. Pulling it towards him, he found a trickle dripping from the faucet and his eyes widened. The group had been getting their water from the kitchen, but with more people that had been living comfortably, Carl felt like each time anyone went to get water, a new disaster would happen. He shut the water off as if he had been yelled at for wasting resources and subconsciously wiped his hands at his jeans as he walked back through the room, closing the main entry as he left. His gun was raised again, but with less urgency as he stepped deeper into the darkness. He listened for shuffling, but heard nothing other than his own steps before he found the next door. Once more, he strained his ears, trying to pick up the most miniscule of sound. He heard nothing and found there was no window to peer through inside this one. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Carl readied his weapon with a stiff arm and flung the door open, looking at the corners across from him, both occupied by a sturdy desk and chair with the end of a dresser under another weathered window. Opening the door completely, Carl was met with only the room's bed and another door, which he assumed led to another bathroom. Though it seemed to mirror the guest room before it, the floor was stained with dust, creaking under his foot steps as he went to clear the bathroom of any unwanted presence.

Flinging the door open without abandon, Carl found a bathroom only slightly bigger than the first, mirror in tact and the belongings of a woman's make up bag piled in the sink, the waste basket full of tissues marked with black and shades of pink. The tub shared a wall with the hall, leaving the sink and toilet to share their own barrier with the room next door. Carl leaned against the blank wall and stared at the cosmetics, seeing the tube of lipstick half open to expose the dark red inside, the round powder compact with dark brown hues laying open against the tap handle, the various brushes falling from the side of the sink and on the floor-- the same ugly green that had plastered the footing of the other bathroom. Something inside him knew that this room was full before the prison crumbled; he knew that there were still clothes inside the dresser and that there was probably paper work strewn about the desk that he had overlooked when looking for anything set out to kill him. All he could do was hope that some of the women wanted her clothes and that they could get rid of the garments without too much fuss.

Having spent a few moments against the wall, Carl went back to the hall and continued to the next room. This door was a full plank like the one before it, but he could hear the undeniable shuffle of Walkers-- two of them from the sounds of it-- coming from within, their groans soft and barely audible through the walls. His face went hard as his grip tightened around his gun, his other hand wrapping around the door handle with care to not attract any of their attention. He waiting a moment to hear if they had noticed a rattle of the knob before opening the door. What he saw shocked him as he saw a young girl in a tattered dress standing near him, her once bouncy hair matted with grease and blood, hanging down about her face. The skin was peeling away from her forehead and down her cheek, hanging to her neck in ripples as it curled with her hair. Her eyes were a milky green glaze of gray, her slate-colored skin lined with blue lines of her lifeless veins. Her small hands reached towards him and he noticed that some of her fingers were missing, most notably the thumb on her right hand, though a few others were gone, leaving empty air in between those that remained attached. Carl stared at her, unable to fire his weapon; she was younger than he was-- younger than Sophia had been when he saw her turned-- and this little girl was in a lot worse damage than his old friend had been. The frills of her socks were still above her now lack luster shoes and he could see the head band on the dresser, pristine and forgotten. He could see another body turning on the other side of the bed, that one a lot larger than the little Walker in front of him, but he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Thoughts of Sophia, his mother, Shane, and Judith ran through his head as he stared into her strangely menacing face without emotion. He watched as she took a step, then another, to him, her teeth bared to him as she chomped hungrily at the air before her; he was probably the first living meal she had ever seen since her turning and that made him wake from his hypnosis. Without a second thought, Carl aimed between her eyes and shot her, the brain matter oozing down her nose and sticking into her hair as she back backwards onto the rug. Carol or some of the other women would have to clean it before anyone moved in. Or, if worse came to shove, they would just have to pour some sawdust over it and pretend like it wouldn't bother them-- something he was sure they could do considering he had seen a lot worse when the group was out on the road moving from shelter to shelter, each place seedier than the first.

A second growl of hunger made Carl's head snap up to see the adult stumbling forward, trying to make its way around the bed. His face was half gone, little bite marks puncturing what little skin still clung to his cheek and forehead, the brown strands of hair covering some of the exposed muscle deteriorating in the open. Little punctures peppered his sagging, decaying flesh and Carl's stomach sunk as he realized that she had been the reason he turned. His own daughter was his demise. He watched the Walker bump against the mattress and lunge towards him, the bullet flying through the dead's forehead as Carl's reflexes finally squeezed the trigger. The body fell with a soft thud, with the spoiled blood seeping into the carpet beneath him. Not wanting to stain the floor any more than needed, Carl holstered his gun and began pulling the bodies into the hallway, freshest kill first before dumping the little girl on its back. As he rolled the small form onto the bigger Walker, Carl heard footsteps coming towards him. He could tell by the quick pace that the other three had thought something happened to him and they were there to rescue him or at least put him down. The thought strangely calmed him as he looked at the three blankly. "Just seeing if there was any rooms or anything," he said. Reaching into his back pocket, he revealed the rolled piece of paper and waved it towards them, "It's more about where they wanted to put the inmates, but it's got the layout and some markings on it."

Daryl lowered his crossbow and took the paper from the young man, unrolling it with his calloused hands gliding over the laminate. He studied the paper as Glenn came around his side and joined the hunter, Carl pushing the two further into the wall with his foot, watching as their slack jaws moved at the push. "Least the babies will have some clothes in a couple years," he commented, trying to see the positive after seeing such a young girl as one of those monsters he had become accustomed to killing. Maggie looked at him, unable to say anything; what was there to say? So, she nodded and worked her way into the room, looking at the battered walls that the two had been bumping into for Lord knows how many months. "I think she turned first and bit her dad. Probably ate her own fingers looking for food," Carl continued, now earning looks from Daryl and Glenn, the former folding the map and shoving it into his shirt pocket.

Trying to change the subject, for Carl's sake and for the others, Daryl cleared his throat. "How many rooms you got?" he asked, turning back to business. "We found two of 'em on the second floor and another two on the first. Looks like there's a few clothes and stuff still in 'em," he informed Carl, waiting for the youth's report on his own findings.

"Three, including this one," spoke Carl as he shoved his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants. "There might be one more considering how long this hall is." Daryl nodded.

"Looks 'bout right," was all he said. Maggie was now completely in the room and the guys could hear her rummaging through the drawers, one opening after another. Daryl turned to Glenn and said, "Let's throw the bodies over and burn 'em. Don't need 'em stinking up the joint any worse than they already have." Glenn nodded and the two men began pulling the bodies down the hall, leaving a faint trail of blood behind them, the small streaks barely noticable against the tile. Carl watched as blood fell from each corpse-- the little girl slung over Glenn's shoulder while the father was slung over Daryl's-- finally marring the clean hallway. Another innocent thing coming to an end.

  
"What are you looking for?" Carl asked Maggie after watching the men walk towards what was left of the third floor office to dump the bodies at the ground site. Finally being in the room without Walkers, he could see that this room was much larger than the others, a TV stand glaring the reflection of two windows as a dresser rested between them with an attached mirror above it, the other wall housing a small clothes cupboard that hung ajar, another chair next to it was tucked haphazardly into a writing desk angled with the corner.

Maggie turned to him with fist fulls of clothes in her hands. "Maybe we'll find something for the girls," she atoned as she went back to her search. "The girl couldn't have been any older than four-- she may have been wearing diapers or using binkies."

"I'll check the bathroom."

"Good thinking. If there's a diaper bag or anything, it'll be in there." Maggie went to the next drawer as Carl opened the bathroom door and felt the surprise race his brows to his hairline. This bathroom held a tub and shower with two sinks and a toilet, all with elbow room to spar. The lights were lined above the mirror that stretched from the door way to the edge of the curtain and a collection of toys sat on the corner of the tub, spilling on the floor. Above the toilet, a medicine chest full of toothpaste, floss, and gummy vitamins sat open. On the counter next to the door was placed a black duffel bag unzipped and exposing the rubber tops of sippy cups and a box of baby wipes. Next to the bag was a bag of diapers.

Carl turned back to Maggie and caught her attention from the clothes search. "Found some diapers and a couple sippy cups. There's some toys in here too."

"Lil' Ass Kicker gonna have some toys?" Daryl's voice bubbled as a lopsided grin lit his features. He had taken a stronger liking to Judy, his allegiance to her strengthening each time Carol or Beth made him feed her a bottle. "Fuck yeah! Let's get the party started!" They all chuckled at Daryl's enthusiasm and Maggie collected the toys and clothes with the help of her fiance. "Get any ideas about fixing that wall up?" Daryl asked without the smirk, his face darker than it had been a few moments ago.

Sadly, Carl shook his head. "Unless we fix that fence or put up a blockade of desks or something, I don't think it's gonna be fixed. Might not make it too great to live in once the cold starts settling in."

Daryl nodded at the words. "We could definitely try the blockade and the fence fixin'," Daryl lamented with his fingers going to stroke his chin. "I'll haffta ask Carol if we got any more of dem zip ties we used when gettin' in this place. Set up a couple of the poles and we should be good to at least get some of that fence up. And whatever fence we can't find, we could build with the brick we found, reinforce it with a couple desks or something." The hunter nodded, showing how impressed he was with the idea. "Might as well give it a try tomorrow. Figure out what we can do and go from there. We'll talk to your dad about it." With that, the group went down the stairwell and lit the bodies, watching them char before making the journey back to the group.


	9. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men talk amongst themselves over the findings from looking at the wall and what it means for the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for taking so long to update, I actually found one of these things called a-- I think it's called a job? Idk, but it takes up a lot of my time so I tried to write something pertinent for you all! Hope you enjoy :)

"This ain't much help," Rick confessed with irritation peeking from his voice, his body crouched between the cots of his room as he poured over the map he was given. The bright colors of the sections danced against each other as he tried to distinguish anything he thought might be different from the cells.

 

Carl stood next to the cell's entryway, arms folded as he pressed against the wall so his father could see the markings with what little light could reach him. "Well, you found supplies in a closet before right? Why not just mark all the closets that look the same as that one and go looking in those?" The suggestion seemed obvious to Carl, but he saw Rick shake his head gently.

"That may not work," the father warned his son.

"I can at least point out where the clinic is and we can start figuring out what we could do about the rooms around it," Carl tried once more in vain, unable to accept the idea that their search had proven fruitless.

Rick shook his head once more, his lips turned down in sympathy. "No," he soothed, Daryl standing in the corner with thumb to his mouth, "even if we do do that, it won't be that much of a help." Carl's face fell at the news, but hardened at the realization that the search was useless; he had failed at proving that there was something to even find.

"Wasn't a bad idea, though," Rick tried to amend, "was a damn good one for the situation we're in. They just had everything stored on computer systems is all."

Daryl stopped feasting on his thumb long enough to tell the older Grimes that a few rooms had been found-- a whole of 8 in total, each with its own bathroom. "Some of 'em even got clothes we could wear. Might have to clean some of 'em out 'fore we move anyone in there; still gotta finish building up that wall though," he tacked on before chewing at his thumb again.

"I was thinking," Carl began, his father's attention now back on him, "that we could use some of the zip ties to at least fix the fence so more of them won't come roaming through-- at least until we fix the wall a bit. And honestly, I only think we need to make it so the hallways are hole; the rooms seem to be just fine regardless of the huge hole."

Rick nodded his head, mulling the idea in his brain with deliberation. "How're we gonna do that though?" he asked his son, but quickly shifting his gaze to the hunter.

Carl spoke again, "We found a bunch of bricks that could be pretty useful if we find any mortar or anything; we could use those to build up the little segments missing in each hallway-- kind of close off the offices so no one falls over or anything. It's not like they're really helpful to us anyways."

"And if need be," Daryl added, "we could always work on 'em when the weather gets warm; that way we'll have you and whoever we end up trusting to stay."

Rick shot the Dixon a look of confusion and boiling anger at the topic. "What do you mean? Some people fixing to leave?"

Daryl shrugged. "Don't think any of 'em are, but people're still talkin' about going back to Woodbury, especially for Hope's safety-- as if she ain't safe enough here or somethin'," he informed the old sheriff. "They just try an' keep it a little more hush-hush now."

Mr. Grimes nodded from his cot and let his elbows rest at his knees, his eyes staring at the cold floor in contemplation. "You talk to anyone about this?" he asked after finally looked up at Daryl.

Dixon was the one to shake his head now. "Glenn and Maggie ain't said nothin' and I'm sure they ain't fixin' to until you give the say so," informed the hunter with squinted eyes as the sun bounced across his face from forehead to cheek. Rick let the map settle on the cot next to him as he tried to stretch his back out after being bed-ridden for only a couple of days. Though it was a short time, it was the first time he had really settled in the past year to rest and it was wreaking havoc on his body, pinpointing every minor injury he had gotten from fighting and running for safety.

"I think they'll like the rooms," Carl gestured with his brim tipping up again. "I checked one of the sinks in the bathrooms and it worked. We'll have to find where the pipes lead to one of these days to figure out how much water is left."

Both adults looked at him with raised brows. "Really? The taps worked?" Daryl asked in disbelief, somewhat shocked that he hadn't been told when the group had found Carl hauling the two Walkers into the hall. His nose wrinkled as he recalled the familiar stench of charred flesh now engrained in his memories; no matter how many times they had to burn a pile of bodies, he couldn't get over the stink they left. He was almost sure that the odor hung onto his clothes worse than any cigarette smoke ever could. Carl nodded at the questions, confirming the allegations. "Yeah," Daryl admitted, "I can't see them not likin' that. They'll just be fightin' over who gets 'em."

"People would fight over them anyways," Rick corrected the other man even though he knew in the back of his mind that this would have been perfect for the group before the Woodbury community had joined them. "But, what's this idea you've got with the fence?" he asked, changing the topic to something that left no room for stray thought.

Carl shoved himself full right, spacing himself from the wall, before beginning his explanation. "Well, we were planning on getting all the zip ties together this afternoon and then work on getting the poles back into position tomorrow after we wake up. That way we got time to let to posts settle and reinforce the fence with the desks if we have to."

"What do you mean reinforce them?"

"Stackin' 'em until we're sure we got the fence completely done. Extra barrier is all," clarified Daryl from behind his thumb, the habit now trying to curb the need to have his lungs filled with cigarette smoke.

Rick let his mouth retract in a grimace. "I don't think that'll really work. If the fence isn't strong enough on its own, the desks won't stop them."

"We don't need to stop them," Carl pointed out, "just slow them down enough to make it harder for them to get through. They're stupid so if they do end up getting through, they'll get distracted and stay wandering through the rubble."

The reasoning was good, but Rick knew his son was missing the point. If they were still staying in the tombs, it wouldn't matter if the Walkers were slowed down-- they wouldn't have a warning either way. "We'll see," Rick settled on, not wanting to outright deny the idea. His eyes met Daryl's, both of them thinking how useless the desks would be if the whole community really was in the tombs.

Appeased at the fact that it wasn't an outright no, Carl tipped his hat and left the room, his steps echoing on the metal stairs as he descended. "You think Carol's got them extra zip ties?" Daryl asked after a moment's pause. Rick seemed to be caught off guard by the query.

"Maybe. Doesn't hurt to ask."

"True. Any idea where she's at?" The question received a shrug and Daryl huffed. "Thanks for the help, ya bed sore." The two shared a laugh and the hunter left, searching for the woman in question. Maybe he could talk her into washing his clothes from the smell of burning bodies.

Carol was on watch with Deb, the two quiet as he approached them. "Something wrong?" the mousey woman asked Daryl as she slung her gun about her shoulder, the barrel resting against her side.

Daryl shook his head, giving a wave to Mrs. Bates who smiled in return. "Was wondering what happened to the rest of them zip ties we had," stated the newcomer, stopping within arms reach of the two. Deb stood with her hip out, gently kicking the dirt as she darted looks between the two and the few Walkers roaming around the yard; her nose wrinkled as a breeze picked up.

"God!" she cried at the stench and holding her nose. "The hell is that smell?"

The outcry made Daryl give a meek smile, one that bordered humility. "Ran into a couple Geeks and we had to burn 'em. The smell kinda lingers for a while," informed the man as he shoved his hand to the back of his head, a nervous habit he knew he had never grown out of. Carol laughed at the familiar gesture.

"Want me to wash them later on?" she offered with a smile, her laughter hidden beneath her teeth.

"That'd be great. I 'ppreciate it," he smiled shyly, catching the glance Deb gave the two of them. "But what about them zip ties?"

Carol twisted her face trying to think of where the group had put them. "Not sure how many we have," she confessed as she continued to search her memory. "But try T-Dog's old cell. If they aren't there, then they might be in Axel's old room." Her words were unsure, but he nodded, thanking her for the help before beginning to trek back to the prison.

"How's the wall looking?" Daryl turned back to the women, somewhat shocked that Deb was the one asking him. "It look like it can be fixed?" Her forehead was wrinkled in anticipation, hoping for good news.

Hesitantly, Daryl answered her. "We might be able to, but we're gonna fix the fence first. Then we might just shut off the hallways-- smaller walls and less obstacles. We ain't got enough good bricks to rebuild the original." Deb nodded, understanding.

"Any idea what happened to it?" Daryl shook his head. "Did you," her eyes darted around them, stepping towards him a little, "uh, find anything else while you were up there?"

Daryl cocked his head at her. "Like, what?" he asked, not wanting to talk about the rooms. Rick and him had decided not to say anything and he planned to stick to it.

Deb's gaze shifted nervously around them, her eyes darting this way and that as she tried to force the words out. "Like, rooms or anything," she meekly announced, but Daryl heard every syllable.

"We didn't really look around," he lied passively, trying to sound nonchalant about the topic. "Just looked around the wall and burned the bodies."

Now it was Carol's turn to give him a glance of suspicion, her brows almost connecting. Deb seemed to question it, but stopped short of asking. "Alright," accepted the dark haired woman with resignation, turning back to her post, sharing a look with the woman beside her.

Quickly turning, Daryl made his way back to the prison, mentally berating himself for lying so poorly. On his way, Greg and Michonne passed him on their way to relieve Carol and Deb, the three passing sharp nods to each other without a single sound shared between them.

Down at the gate, the women were in a hushed conversation. "What do you think they found?" Deb asked, her eyes squinting as her head strained to stay still. "They couldn't have spent all that time just looking at a fucking wall and burning bodies."

"Beats me," Carol said, turning to watch Daryl go through the prison entrance, undoubtedly hunting for the ties he had asked for. "But whatever it was, I'm sure there's a reason they haven't told us."

Deb looked at her friend unsure of how to react. A few moments passed as Carol stared at the prison, not really seeing Greg and Michonne coming to takeover. Deb greeted her husband with a kiss, handing over the gun and stretching her back. Michonne and Carol nodded at each other, a warm greeting as any that Michonne had ever given to anyone. Relieved from their position, the women followed the path to the courtyard knowing that a shrinking stack of blankets sat waiting to be mended. "Do you and Daryl have something going on?" Deb asked outright, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. She didn't flinch as Carol's eyes bulged out of their sockets at her.

"What?!" Carol asked with disbelief evident in her voice. "Me and Daryl?" she laughed at the idea. "What on Earth makes you think we're...," words failed her as she couldn't bring herself to say it. She had known that she was fond of Daryl, but she had written it off as being thankful for him trying so hard to look for her daughter, for having faith that Sophia would be found when she even lacked the will to go on; it was gratitude for saving her life at Hershel's farm the night they left. She appreciated Daryl's place in the world and knew he was a good man. Being the widow of an abuser, the scars on his back hadn't escaped her, nor did the flinch he gave when she leaned down to kiss his temple; to her, they shared a bond that only damaged people understood. Carol didn't see herself as damaged anymore, but she certainly was at that point in her life.

"Oh, come on! I saw you two talking," Deb laughed back in good humor, not realizing how scandalized Carol felt at the abrupt topic. "You two just go together. It's kind of hard not to notice."

Carol blushed at the idea, vaguely remembering how safe she felt after Daryl had found her hidden in the tombs. The memory was fuzzy as she had been so dizzy from dehydration and starvation. "Our rela-- we aren't like that," she corrected Deb and herself, changing her words to be more convincing, but knowing that the slip up only proved more to her friend that the two were a couple.

"Carol and Dixon sitting in a tree," Deb teased quietly, aware of the children running about the black top. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G," she continued, leaning in to whisper the lyrics into Carol's ear.

"Oh, stop!" Carol cried, pushing the other woman away with a friendly shove. She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment and hoped they weren't too red or she would hear more of it. "We aren't like that."

The two climbed the stairs into the cell block in synch with each other as Deb reached the handle to the door. "The real question is: do you want it to be?" Her smirk widened as Carol visibly flustered at the question, and walked off to the table were the stack of blankets sat. Carol stood in the doorway for a moment before following after her friend.

In the depths of the tombs, Carl made his way through the darkened rooms with ease, familiar with the cold echo of the walls and the dim lighting that he managed to find every few yards. From the first time he found the medical wing, he had come to these empty halls for privacy; no one knew that and even if they did, no one would really go after him.

He knew this area of the prison was clear, but his gun was still gripped, ready to shoot just in case any Walkers had actually gotten through. The walls mimicked each step as he made his way down the hall, stepping every now and then to check a door he had yet to explore the past few months only to find it locked from within. A vague memory of closets ghosted through his mind, urging him on his adventure, the darkness answering each of his steps.

Carl turned down another hall and found himself walking into another cell block. The stench of rotting bodies and smears of blood covering the ground was a familiar burn he recognized over the past year, the heated odor marking uniquely as the scent of prison. Like his own block, light poured in from above through the barred windows, fully exposing the bodies laying face down at each cell. It was hard to not notice the raw bullet holes in the back of their skulls and the small pools of blood that surrounded each head like crippled halos. 'They were probably all on their knees,' he reasoned, picturing the guards shooting each one without hesitation, only stopping to move onto the next struggling prisoner; each one of the dead men had his hands tied together with clear plastic zip ties.

With a sweeping look, he tried to see if any guards had dropped extra ties while any of the prisoners were scattering, or if there were any guards that didn't make it through the outbreak and had died within the block; maybe the bodies would still have them latched to their belts. In the corner of the block, just where the stairs met the wall, the black pant leg of a guard hanging over the catwalk.

Making his way to the second floor of the cell block, Carl kept his grip on the gun, taking a small moment to double-check that the safety was still off. More bodies lined the front of the cells, prisoners clad in jumpsuits all laying on their stomachs without a twitch of any movement. It seemed strange to see only a couple of bodies stacked against the wall below or crumpled against each other in the corner of the stair way near the guard. His steps grew quiet, slowing as he approached the clump of bodies. With slow deliberation, Carl studied the bodies, seeing dried blood on the clothes and rusted onto the railings, looking for movement from anyone besides himself.

He could see the scratches through the arms, blood dying the fabric that framed it. The two bite marks that were around the guard's neck; the wounds weren't deep, like Walkers trying to pull the flesh off the bone, but like fight wounds where the prisoner-- or prisoners-- had bitten their opponent in order to get the upper hand. Each groove of tooth indented itself into the skin, only a small gash barely visible from each indentation showing the slightest trace of blood.

For safe measure, Carl shot the guard in the head and quickly repeated the action to the other bodies before moving on to hunt for a supply closet.


	10. Come Next Season

Daryl stood at the base of the tower with bow in hand, bolts resting at his side as he wiped them down clean. He knew that he would need to go on a hunt soon enough now that they had gone a few days without it, the whole camp barely living off of the cans without resulting to hunger-driven anger at each other. He could tell the doubters who wanted to go back to Woodbury were constantly judging how they lived in the prison, begrudgingly accepting the rationed portions so they could take the brunt of the approaching winter. Dirt was caked under his nails and he frowned at the site before putting the clean arrow into his wiped quiver and tending to ridding the Earth from his fingers. The soft footsteps from nearby vaguely registered, his mind so entrenched with tracking and hunting that his brain naturally picked up the sound. As he heard the rocks gently crunch under light footsteps, Daryl wasn’t shocked when Carol’s voice filled his ears.

“So, what did you find in there?” the tentative tone that he had come to know and find comfort in was not there; instead it was replaced with blunt determination of finding the truth. The question itself threw him even more for a loop as he realized that she was talking about the earlier adventure to the wall. He looked back at the setting sun and watched the shadows stretch across the ground beyond the creek, his hopes high that they would have an answer for him to give. “Hello?” Carol called out softly, her head craning a bit as if to put her into his view. At this, Daryl turned to look at her, their gazes locking— her eyes seemingly hard as stone as the burn of being ignored settled in her stomach.

“Huh?”

Her brows twitched in annoyance, knowing full well that he had heard her. Without arguing, she sighed and repeated herself. “What did you find? When you were checking out the wall earlier?” She clarified to make sure he didn’t stall any further than he had already done. As a hunter, he was never that far off from the conversation unless he knew that there was a private conversation he shouldn’t be listening in on, in which case he would have just left.

The discomfort in Daryl’s demeanor seemed strange on him, his composure slumping more so than usual as his foot toed at a large pebble. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said calmly, inwardly praising himself for having made a significant improvement since the morning. His self-appraisal faltered as he saw a strong frown take place of Carol’s usually light-hearted features.

“Bullshit, Daryl,” Carol spat with a growing grudge. “You wouldn’t have spent that long just looking at a damn wall and burning a couple bodies and we both know that. Don’t treat me like that; don’t treat me like I don’t know anything!”

It had never shown before, but now Carol’s anger was blossoming in front of him and Daryl wasn’t sure how to approach the topic anymore. This side of Carol was unmarked territory that she wasn’t sure of accessing anymore after her husband. Sure, she had moved on from Ed in the past year— of course, bludgeoning the bloody Hell out of his head probably helped a Hell of a lot with that— but memories and routinely being made into a submissive punching bag doesn’t exactly make someone seem like a fighter. A part of him felt bad thinking that way since he knew it from his childhood— especially since it was something that was always thought of him and what he continued to prove himself against— but even worse knowing that she had more than proven herself to be a fighter; she could hold her own against Geeks and he was wondering how she could get mad? How stupid could he be?

“Damn it, Daryl!” she huffed with exasperation, her palm resting against the wall of the tower. “If you can’t tell me, fine. But don’t treat me like I’m a know-nothing.” Her voice softened with her hurt falling from her words, the thought depressed her shoulders into a slump to bury her neck into. The thought of being treated less than equal made her feel less than human; it defeated the confidence that she had regained being her own person again.

All he could do was look at her and sigh, his right thumb digging at the dirt beneath the nails of his left hand, searching from an answer there. “It ain’t that I can’t tell ya nothin’,” he started quietly, his tone low but clear enough for her to hear.

“So you don’t want to tell me then?” her accusation sounded incredulously aghast at the concept of being left out of the loop by the person she had grown closest too since the group had formed.

“It ain’t that!”

His correction was quick and rushed, the words jumbling into each other as if the one before it wasn’t out fast enough. Being under pressure from Carol was odd for him, but he had no idea how to get out of it. He had never been good at talking his way out from a situation with an angered woman and he sure wasn’t good at it now.

For a moment he stuttered, faltering for a wording that didn’t sound disrespectful or could be twisted in a way that he didn’t mean. If there was a way to dig himself out of the hole he had seemingly been dug in to, he was lost on it; there was no proverbial shovel to help him fill that hole.

Taking pity on him, Carol changed the topic. “You going on a hunt soon?” It was a comfortable topic. An old one that he was sure to be able to talk about without feeling like he was being put on the spot to answer the biggest question of life on a subject he knew nothing about.

Daryl gave a glance towards the thin, mousy woman expecting the question to be a trap so she could bring up the uncomfortable topic later. It was bait, but he bit, nodding in assurance. “Probably in the next couple of days. We can’t live off cans for more than we need to. ‘Sides, we’ll need to stock up on it before all the animals go for hibernation and shelter for the winter.” Dirt was now being absently peeled from beneath his nails once more, the small shavings of dehydrated soil falling to the ground as he moved from one finger to another. “I’ll have to go after we get the wall done,” he atoned without looking away from her, the shadows now reaching the fence.

Carol nodded in understanding. They were going to need real meat— true protein— if they were going to make it through the winter without losing anyone to malnutrition. The babies were fine getting their formula, but the adults needed at least a little bit of meat to keep going. “Are we going to cure it over a fire to keep it fresh?” she asked, knowing that he would be gone for a few days at least to stock up like he wanted to. It was Daryl’s turn to nod now.

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to track down a family. I wanna bring back three of ‘em so we won’t run out before the season changes.”

“How long do you think that will take?” she asked, prepared to hear he would be gone for a couple weeks. It often took him at least a week to track a single deer down, let alone more than a family of them.

A shrug met as her answer. “Don’t know,” he reported honestly. “If they weather don’t turn bad quick, maybe two weeks. I’ll have to bust my ass to be able to make it back before the cold really sets in.”

She nodded once more and allowed her shoulder to set against the tower. “I kind of like them here,” she abruptly told him after a long silence between the two, the shadows now crawling past them.

“I ain’t sure how I feel ‘bout them here. Just more mouths to feed and more drama.”

Carol rolled her eyes. “Drama comes with humans, Daryl. That’s why we aren’t brain dead like them.” Her chin jutted towards a few Walkers that were still roaming around the fences, the heart beats now concealed past the prison walls. “We all bring some sort of drama, whether we like it or not.”

Daryl squinted at her words, knowing that she was right. “Yeah, but they’re still more mouths to feed. Not to mention them trouble makers who won’t shut their mouths about going back,” he quipped, his thumbs working under his nails once more for a thorough cleaning. “Especially with so many of ‘em at once.”

The comment received a silent sideways glance, the weariness showing in lines around the widow’s mouth. “You think it’d be better if people just started leaving?” Silence answered her as Daryl refused to give one on his own; he knew he wanted to say yes, but he also wasn’t foolish enough to think that that would really make anything better in the long run— unless you counted the others to live longer being a plus. “Maybe I should leave,” she said much lower, as if she had almost intended for him not to hear.

With a snap of his neck, Daryl looked at her with wide eyes as his fingers stilled. “You ain’t serious are you?” he gaped with wondered shock.

“No,” she shook her head and toed at the dirt she now seemed interested in. “Nothing to run from and nothing to run to other than Walkers.”

“You wish there was something to run to?”

Carol sighed at the question and shrugged. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being restless.”

His eyes squinted again, this time in confusion. “What’re you wound up about?”

He received another shrug from her and he answered with his own before tending once more to wiping his arrows clean.  “Just getting tired of this place, I guess,” was her pathetic attempt at an answer before the silence wrapped around the two once more, Carol’s curiosity shouting at the two of them. Finally she asked, “Are you bringing anyone with you? I know they won’t really be ready, but you’re gonna have to teach them eventually.”

“I might bring a couple,” he spoke curtly. The dilemma had been on his mind earlier and it had driven him to cleaning his equipment for some peace of mind. “Only if they got a little experience. Don’t need anyone wet behind the ears makin’ any trouble for me on this one.”

“Maybe you should teach me once the season changes,” Carol offered out right, the proposition taking them both a little off guard. “I mean, since other people are gonna be relying on it more, more people should learn it. More mouths to feed, right? We have to know how to feed them.”

All he could do was stare at her for a minute. The question coming from her just seemed odd, regardless of how sound her reasoning was. If she wanted to learn, then who was he to stop her?  “Yeah,” he agreed, “if you wanna learn, I’ll teach you. Come next spring, you'll learn.” His words made her smile and he gave one of his own to her, one corner of his mouth raising to make it lopsided.

 They shared a smile as prison was now engulfed in moonlight and Lamebrains roamed the fields beyond the fence. "Maybe Michonne would be good to bring? Not like she can't be quiet," Carol offered, her humor light hearted at her point. Another shot of mirth spilled from Daryl's mouth, his lips curling into a stronger smile than the one before.

"Funny, since I can't ever get her to shut up. Maybe it's cuz she does all her talkin' here," he joked more to make Carol laugh, the companions now sharing a laught as they used the tower to steady themselves.

"Did you ever find those zip ties?" Carol asked with a peaceful look on her face. "Carl found some cement mix in some closet so you'll be able to do the fence tomorrow."

  
"No shit," Daryl's surprised shot out. "I didn't know he found anything. I've been out here since I relieved you and whats-her-face."

Carol shot him a scolding look as if to remind him that he knew better before screwing her face in thought. "Who's supposed to take over after you?"

He shrugged as he wiped another bolt clean.

"Glen and Maggie?" she posed. Another shrug met her with the accompaniment of a short answer saying he didn't know. The reaction made Carol's lips disappear into each other as she pursed her mouth. "You need your rest. I'll send them out in a little bit. That way you can have dinner and get some sleep. You've been doing too much as it is lately."

A smirk of wile wore itself on Daryl's face as he looked at Carol with amusement. "Yes ma'am," was his reply before watching her go back to the prison. An hour later, Glenn and Maggie were walking down the path to the base of the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short! I tried to make it longer but it just didn't ever fit right so I'm gonna make this a fluff chapter and start on a new one in a couple days or something. Caryl just didn't want it to be longer.


End file.
